


Honeysuckle

by justheretoposttrash



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Bylaude, Character Study, Claudeleth, Eventual Smut, Friendship, M/M, Relationship Study, Romance, Slow Burn, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:28:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26188738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justheretoposttrash/pseuds/justheretoposttrash
Summary: “Tell me something...tell me something you haven’t told anyone else. ...And then...I’ll tell you something I’ve never said before. ...Can I do that...?”(Claudeleth vignette series. Cross-post to fanfiction.net)
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Byleth puzzle over each other as they try to figure the other one out. There are painful looks into Byleth's and Claude's pasts as Byleth still couldn't cry, while Claude couldn't recall why he did so often. Brief shenanigans break loose when a spider makes its way into the classroom. When a small crisis is averted, Byleth and Claude have a chance to grow a little closer...but Claude doesn't make it clear to Byleth how he feels about the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Thanks for stopping by my lil’ (or not-so-lil’) vignette series! By that, I mean that the story is organized in sections titled and structured *loosely* like a drabble series with varying scenes and tones, but each piece of writing is way too long to be a proper drabble.
> 
> I wanted to try something different in tone and dynamic from the other huge Claudeleth fic I wrote, so this story is more or less slowburn except with a what-if-they-were-sort-of-friends-with-benefits angle thrown in the (relatively) early game—but with lots of feelings, so that probably doesn't count as “friends with benefits”? Anyway, I’ll attempt to place the events in chronological order (except for some clearly marked flashback scenes), though it can be open to interpretation as to when some of these occur. 
> 
> As a warning, this means that there will eventually be physical intimacy nonsense and smut before (and after) the timeskip, in case that’s not your cup of tea (of course, everyone’s above the legal age). You can check out the same fic on fanfiction.net to read a smut-less version! Anyhoo, the rating of the fic will eventually be pinned down as explicit. Other content warnings will be written in the chapter notes as they apply.
> 
> Also, unlike my previous stuff, this is not 100% finished as of posting the first chapter, so the update schedule will be much more irregular and may take longer as well. I am a busy boi these days, but I’ll do my best! Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> CW: Descriptions of physical abuse, discrimination, and bullying based on race; descriptions of physical abuse, discrimination, and bullying based on characters’ mental/emotional presentation/coding; blood; nondescript spider shenanigans; nondescript spit-in-open-wounds kinda shenanigans

> “You know what I want—to know the secrets in your heart/
> 
> And now I keep it low… There's just some things I don't need to know/
> 
> Don't go tonight/
> 
> Don't go tonight/
> 
> You oughta know it, but it happens all the time/
> 
> Is there a question? You treat it like a crime/
> 
> And in the walls you weaken, and out the walls you climb/
> 
> Oh, why is it not all that it seems?/
> 
> You lock it up so easily/
> 
> I wanna believe all that you say to me...”
> 
> -“Whiteout” by Warpaint

* * *

Envy

Claude was well aware of how uneasy the new professor made him, and he was well aware of the reason why. His professor was a living paradox. He seemed alive, but acted far from it—and this sounded an alarm through Claude’s very being.

See, being able to read facial expressions was a matter of survival, as far as he was concerned. Knowing if someone was seeking to be friends or pretending to be friends—knowing that, when someone says “I won’t hurt you” they really mean quite the opposite—ah, yes, he had seen many faces. So he learned how to read. And now he knew how to survive.

But Byleth's facade was shatterproof. To all of Claude's senses, everything that Byleth did told him that he was sincere. But that was impossible—no one could shut all their emotions off entirely.

Because if they could…

Claude paused, feeling the tiredness in the muscles around his mouth as he flashed another smile at one of his schoolmates.

If they could, then wouldn’t that make things just a little easier?

* * *

Honeysuckle I 

There wasn’t a lot that Byleth knew about the house leader of the Golden Deer, but he knew that Claude spent a lot of time watching him. 

But Claude didn’t observe Byleth indulgently. Instead, he looked at Byleth in pieces, in little glances that flitted to Byleth and then away, quick and light as the movements of a small, skittish bird. Glances over books, around the corners of buildings, around beams and columns, over fingers interlaced in contemplation, past the shoulders of prospective beaus as they leaned in close to his face...

Byleth walked along a sunlit stone path, mind occupied with remembering the light touch of Claude’s gaze, when he heard the sound of rustling leaves and snapping twigs.

Stepping past some bushes, he saw Claude pressed to a wall, against the flowering vines that clung to the stone edifice behind him. A student Byleth didn’t recognize had wrapped her hand around Claude’s neck. Their mouths were close together, though he couldn’t tell if they were in the process of connecting or disconnecting. 

They were...smiling at each other.

Byleth had enough sense to know he’d stumbled upon something private, but before he could leave, he found himself stuck in Claude’s gaze as his green irises turned to fixate on him. 

This sustained, heavy glance was different from those that came before it. It felt like Claude’s eyes were pressing into Byleth’s with more and more pressure as he slowly let the smile slip from his face. 

What was this?

It wasn’t long before the other student took notice of Byleth standing there and sprang away from Claude, trailing half an excuse and half an apology behind her as she ran away.

“Whoops. That wasn’t for your eyes, Teach.” Claude placed a hand on his hip, his mouth turning back into a smile. His eyes remained the same. “You’ll have to excuse me. I wasn’t done dealing with her. But I’ll see you around, okay?”

Dealing with her?

Byleth raised his hand in farewell too late, after Claude had already left. He glanced at the stone wall.

There was a depression in the vines that marked where Claude once stood, where he’d left a person-shaped wound behind. The warm, sunlit air bled the sweet smell of crushed honeysuckle flowers.

* * *

Agony - Fifteen years ago 

Byleth blinked once as one of the kids kicked him again in the leg, hard. 

“He doesn’t even flinch,” the boy who did it said in awe.

“So creepy…” a girl whispered.

Byleth didn’t know what he was supposed to say, so he kept trying to walk away. But with every injury that was inflicted, it was getting more and more difficult to escape.

“Hey, you! Can you even hear us?” another girl asked, pinching him on the arm before scratching him with her nails.

“Must be some kind of magic doll…”

“Maybe we can take it apart and see,” another boy said, reaching out with his hand. Two of his fingers extended slowly towards Byleth’s eyes.

His hand froze as Jeralt came bounding down the hillside. Most of the kids scattered, but the couple that he could get his hands on were promptly lifted from the ground by their collars.

“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re a bunch of snot-nosed brats,” Jeralt growled as they kicked and screamed. “I know how your parents treat my son. If I see you around here again, I won’t be afraid to stoop to their level. Now beat it, before I beat your asses.” He dropped them roughly on the ground and watched them run off towards the village, his brow so furrowed that all the creases in his face looked angry.

“I told you not to wander off. Just let me take care of everything, alright?” he said gruffly, kneeling down to look Byleth in the eye. He took Byleth’s skinny arm in his calloused hand, turning it over to examine the cuts and bruises. “Even after all that, you won’t cry...” he muttered to himself.

It occurred to Byleth then that maybe he was supposed to cry, to make his father feel better. He lifted his hands to his eyes and began pressing on them with his fingers, applying more pressure until he was seeing strange colors and flashes of light.

“What are you doing? Stop!” Jeralt shouted, snatching his hands away. 

Byleth couldn’t look at his father when he was angry, so he looked at the ground. 

Was he angry because it didn’t work? Because Byleth still couldn’t cry?

Jeralt inhaled shakily as he placed a hand on the back of Byleth’s head. “Sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I didn’t mean to sound disappointed in you before, either. I’m sorry. ...You understand that, right?”

Byleth nodded slowly. He didn’t always understand why people got angry, because that was an emotion he hadn’t felt before. But he understood what it meant to be sorry.

“Sorry,” he echoed back at his father.

Jeralt closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Don’t say that, kid.” He took Byleth in his arms, hoisting him up by his shoulder. He started walking on the path that led back to where they were lodged for the month.

“You should never have to say that to me.”

* * *

Pain 

“Good evening,” Byleth said, looking up from the bookshelves as he noticed Claude slipping next to him in the library. “I’m sorry for interrupting you earlier.”

“Accidents happen, Teach. It’s no big deal.” Claude’s finger trailed along the spines of the books that were at his eye-level, skimming their titles before halting, tapping on one of them as though he were pinning something beneath his fingernail. “Though I could think of a few ways you could make it up to me...”

“Sure. What can I do?”

“Maybe you could help me reenact that scene I was acting out with that girl,” Claude said, extracting the book slowly, as though he were completing some delicate surgical procedure. “And maybe you could tell me more about yourself…”

“By ‘scene’ and ‘acting’, you’re not being literal,” Byleth stated, as though he were trying to clarify things for himself.

“Do I seem like a good actor?” Claude asked. His sarcasm was a bit confusing—Byleth thought that Claude would be exactly the kind of person to be a good actor. As if sensing Byleth’s doubt, he added, “Well, that might depend on which one of us you ask—me or her.” 

Claude finally pulled _The Diplomatic History of Fódlan_ from the shelf entirely, tucking it in his other arm. “That girl has connections with some interesting people in the Empire, but she's hard to talk to. I gathered that there wasn’t much we shared in common, aside from...a couple of things. I ended up using one of my lines on her, and she took it at face value and grabbed my throat. That sure colored me surprised. Oh, but don’t worry—I didn’t mind all that much. That's around when you popped in, of course. If that’s not perfect timing, I don’t know what is,” he said with a dash of irony as he reached up for another book on a high shelf, standing on his tip-toes to try and catch it on his fingertips.

“So you were groping for information.”

Claude snorted. “I appreciate your choice of words.” He flashed a smile as Byleth gave a small hop, managing to knock the book that Claude was reaching for into his hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I prefer using my own choice of words when dealing with others. It’s easier to take back words than actions, if you catch my drift.”

Byleth paused as he turned towards Claude. There were bruises on his neck, peeking furtively from underneath his high collar.

“Does it hurt?” Byleth asked, his fingers hesitating before brushing past Claude’s open collar, touching lightly on the blotched skin.

Claude’s eyes narrowed, subtle as the silent breath that he took in through his nose. 

“No,” he said.

“And this sort of thing is enjoyable?” Byleth asked, tilting his head curiously.

“Depends on the person. Not everyone likes spicy food, right? It’s sorta like that,” Claude breathed quietly.

Noting Claude’s altered voice, Byleth quickly removed his hand. “Ah, my apologies,” he said, fingers clenching as though, underneath that impassive face, he were truly upset with himself. “I haven’t...I’m still learning what normal boundaries are for most people. Sometimes I still forget.”

Claude’s eyes scanned Byleth’s face—looking for a crack, a blemish, a weakness—nothing. No flaws. But he didn’t really expect Claude to _believe_ that pitiful excuse, did he?

“Well, maybe there are certain things I could be teaching _you_ , hm?” Claude said with a wink, pulling away. Byleth didn’t reprimand him, didn’t blush—his real intentions were downright undetectable. It was...uncanny. “If it’ll let us become more acquainted with one another, then you’re free to socialize with me any time.”

Taking his leave of the library and stepping into the hall, Claude’s hand began to drift upwards towards his neck, to touch where Byleth’s fingers had just been. He stopped himself mid-motion and continued on his way.

* * *

Eep! 

Byleth paused in his lecture on Giant Crawlers as Ferdinand’s voice carried distantly from the Black Eagles classroom.

“Agh! How unsightly!”

With barely subdued horror, Edelgard exclaimed, “W-what was that creature? Was it a rat?”

“Worry not, Lady Edelgard. I will be smacking down the insect!” Petra assured.

“Actually, that’s not—” Linhardt could be heard saying lazily. He was interrupted by the sharp, ringing sound of metal striking stone.

“Oh—where could it be going?” Petra remarked in surprise. Seconds later, Annette was heard screaming from the Blue Lions classroom, just next door.

“W-what is that thing? Why is it so huge?”

The Golden Deer students were now staring at their wall curiously.

“Come on, don’t use your magic in here!” came Sylvain’s voice.

“Stand back, everyone. I’ve got this handled,” Dimitri said.

“No, you idiot—” Felix protested, the Golden Deer all jumping in surprise as a thud shook their room, dust raining from the ceiling. One of the stone bricks that comprised the wall between their classrooms now had a crack in it.

“Ah—er—my apologies,” Dimitri could be heard shouting from the other room. 

“Think nothing of it,” Claude called back, cupping a hand to his mouth. “You and the princess doing okay over there?”

“Yes, just—we had a bit of a fright, that’s all. But it looks like it’s gone, now…”

By this time, Byleth had strode to the entrance of the classroom, drawing his sword as he waited by the doors. As he scanned the area for any hostile creatures running about, though, he couldn’t make any out.

“S-S-S—” Leonie stammered from behind him.

“Yes?” Byleth said, turning to face her. She was standing on her desk, brandishing a dagger in each hand. Her wide, panicked eyes were fixed on the center of the classroom, where a large, fuzzy spider was making its way across the floor.

“Ugh—” she managed to grunt out, the fear in her eyes threatening to spike into a self-preserving hostility. She turned her gaze up towards the ceiling, doing her best to pretend it wasn’t there.

“Ew!” Hilda exclaimed, lifting her legs up onto her chair. “That thing really is huge! Are we sure this isn’t a Crest stone monster, like those Giant Crawlers?”

“Oh hey, I think I’ve read about this kind before,” Claude said cheerfully as he craned his neck to see it.

“Let’s not panic. I’ll just catch it and put it outside,” Byleth said, sheathing his sword as he stepped up towards the creature. At the same time, Claude had hopped out of his chair, procuring a small vial from his pockets as he made his way towards it.

“Hang on just a second, Sensei. I want to get a venom sample from this thing.”

“You are unbelievably childish,” Lysithea protested from across the room, also standing on her desk despite attempting to look as dignified as possible. “Just kill that thing and be done with it, for everyone’s peace of mind!”

“Come now, if it were a big butterfly—er, with teeth—would you be treating it the same way? For shame,” Claude said breezily as he crouched down in front of it. He nudged it with the tip of a quill pen, trying to provoke it into attacking the opening of the vial he was holding in front of its fangs. “Unlike my classmates, I don’t judge a book by its cover. Just give me a couple of drops, and we can be on our w—”

He blinked as the spider lifted its front legs, before launching itself onto his wrist and crawling up the sleeve of his arm.

Eyes wide and mouth pressed into a thin line, Claude leapt to his feet without a word as though he’d been scalded, scrabbling at his arm before tearing open the front of his uniform. Turning around and hopping up and down, he dangled his uniform loosely from his shoulders as he tried kicking down his pants and lifting up the bottom of his undershirt.

“Whoo! Party!” Hilda shouted teasingly, ill-concealing her own nervousness that the spider might come towards her, next.

Face so barely red that it was scarcely noticeable, Byleth had unclipped his cloak from his shoulders and was attempting to toss it around Claude to cover him up, the two of them meeting in a brief struggle of opposing actions.

“What are you—stop. Just—get it—get it off—!” Claude said just short of snapping, voice unusually tense.

“Oh. Right.”

“W-what’s going on? Is it gone yet?” Leonie said loudly, still looking at the ceiling.

“No, but it really likes Claude for some reason,” Raphael observed, looking a bit confused.

“It’s got Claude?” Leonie exclaimed. Byleth looked up before grabbing Claude’s shoulders, throwing the both of them to the floor as one of Leonie’s daggers impulsively flew right past their heads. “Argh! I’m so sorry. I just—I shouldn’t be in close quarters with this thing! I’m out of here,” she said, leaping athletically from desktop to desktop before jumping out of the classroom.

“Sorry. Is it still on you?” Byleth asked as he glanced down at Claude, who was staring back up at him from the floor. For just a second, he registered that his hands had landed on either side of Claude’s head, all while Claude was in a sloppy state of half-undress, albeit in a way that was more comical than anything else.

“Oh—oh no—it’s coming this way!” Hilda said, pointing at the spider as it began crawling up towards the desks. “Marianne, _do_ something!”

“Oh...u-um…”

Glancing to the side to see that the spider was, indeed, no longer on Claude’s person, Claude and Byleth relaxed with a sigh. Their eyes met only briefly once more, before they got to their feet, dusting themselves off as though nothing had happened.

“There is little use scrambling about in such an unseemly way,” Lorenz said. “Perhaps a bit of elegant sorcery could be our solution.”

“Uh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea to try indoors,” Ignatz pointed out shyly.

“I’ve got it!” Raphael said, leaving his chair. He walked up to the spider, closed his large fist around it, and made his way out of the classroom, winding back his arm as he threw it as far as he could. It soared into the blue sky and soon disappeared into the distance, and that was that.

Lysithea descended from the top of her desk to her seat, somehow looking even paler than usual.

“O-oh...we didn’t need to kill it…” Marianne murmured a bit lamentably as Raphael reentered the classroom.

“Ah, the little menace will be fine,” Claude reassured, straightening his clothes out. “The bodies of creatures like that have too much air resistance to get hurt at terminal velocity.”

“Terminal velocity…?”

He paused as he saw the look on Marianne’s face. Perhaps that wasn’t something common knowledge for the nobles here. 

“Read it from a book somewhere,” he hand-waved, returning to his seat and plopping down in his chair.

Byleth returned to the front of the room, placing his hands on top of his desk as he leaned forward a bit wearily. “Can someone find Leonie and get her to come back?” he asked.

As order was slowly restored, Claude rested his elbows on his desk, slouching slightly.

That was a little close. If he’d fully lost his wits and shed his outer uniform entirely, then he would’ve revealed a bit more than he wanted to. Not that there were large stakes in that, but...

He touched the edges of his sleeves, making sure that what he kept hidden by his wrists was still intact.

* * *

Something Lost, Something Gained - Fifteen years ago 

Some things were vivid, if brief, memories. Someone else’s spit on his cheek. Someone’s smile twisting into something not quite a smile as their nails raked down his arm.

Most other things were lost—unable to be remembered. But the shadows left by these lost things still collected under Khalid’s feet, still followed his footsteps, incorporeal, with a vagueness that couldn’t be defended against. 

His parents couldn’t understand why he cried so often, or clung to their legs so much, despite them discouraging such displays of weakness. None of his brothers had ever behaved in such a way.

At other moments, he lashed out, throwing his toys at his brothers, screaming at strangers that passed by in the city.

And frequently, there were other times that he misbehaved quietly. 

His father was once helping the cook look for his favorite knife, which had inexplicably gone missing. Naturally, he jumped almost a foot in the air when, in his search, he found Khalid wandering the halls with the giant knife clutched between his two small hands. When his father scolded him, asking why he would do such a thing, he couldn’t say anything that made sense. Being as young as he was, of course he couldn’t.

During those times, Sinan would invite Khalid to try some treats of his for a while. At first, these treats would often have powdered pepper in them, or dirt. Once, there were shards of broken pottery. 

Eventually, Khalid would forget these things, or how he knew what he knew, or why he felt the way he did.

And still, there came a day when he stopped coming whenever his brother called.

* * *

Coy 

“Hey, Teach,” Claude said with a wave. 

“Claude.” Byleth blinked. He had just gotten into bed when someone knocked on his door. He wasn’t expecting Claude to be greeting him in his day-clothes at this hour. “Is something the matter?”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late,” Claude said, not especially apologetically. “I’m just having a lot of trouble on this assignment, and it’s due tomorrow.” As he handed Byleth a small stack of papers, his eyes slipped past the unkempt hair on top of Byleth’s head, past the plain but interestingly thin nightclothes that he was wearing, back towards the far corner of Byleth’s room—where the Sword of the Creator was leaning. 

Byleth briefly glanced at the question Claude was pointing to. “That’s odd. I saw you executing this particular gambit a few weeks ago. Quite expertly, too.” 

“You did, did you? Impressive,” Claude said smoothly, looking genuinely shocked—though mimicking the expression wasn’t all that difficult. “And I say that because I don’t even remember what I ate yesterday, let alone whatever it was I was doing back then.” Byleth moved to hand him back his paper, but he tried to press the issue. “Still, I’m not feeling super confident about this problem. It’s like—once it’s on paper, I just can’t visualize anything. It’d improve my morale if you showed me how you’d approach this question.”

Byleth’s subdued eyes gazed at Claude as he returned the papers into his hands, and this time Claude let him. “It doesn’t need to be perfect. I’m sure that whatever you manage to put down will be more than acceptable. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Claude suppressed a sigh, knowing it would be pointless to continue this petty subterfuge. “That’s alright, Teach. I’d hate to disrupt your sleep—er, more than I already have, by the looks of it.” 

In truth, he’d been banking on Byleth feeling tired to help slip past his guard—but there was nothing to be done now. Whenever Byleth was prepared for Claude to ask him a straight question, he could never give a straight answer. 

Ever the sore loser, Claude remarked, “I guess this sort of thing is more up Hilda’s alley. If it was her instead of me, would you have answered my question?”

Brow lowering, Byleth said, “I don’t understand.” As always.

“Forget it. Goodnight, Teach.” Claude flashed a smile, turning to leave without even waiting for Byleth to say goodbye.

That was another bust, but he could be patient. 

Although, as the evening grass crunched beneath his shoes, a part of him had to wonder… Why would Byleth lie?

And a tiny, minuscule part of him that he tried to ignore would counter back: Why wouldn’t anyone? 

When has that ever stopped them before?

_I don’t know._

_I don’t understand._

There wasn’t much that got under Claude’s skin, but the more he heard Byleth say those things, the worse it felt.

And yet another part of him wondered if there was another reason why it bothered him so much—and before he could help it, he kept wondering.

He wondered how it would make him feel if Byleth could pierce into him with those darkly blue eyes of his, and...say that he knew. If Byleth could say that he understood him.

* * *

Venin, Antivenin, Blood 

Claude fitted another arrow into his bow and fired as he kept to the shadows of the trees, and the ruffian before him shouted as it sank into his ankle.

The Golden Deer were well into their pursuit of a murderous band of thieves, and had ended up chasing them from a village into the woods nearby. As the fight turned quickly in their favor, the enemies’ death cries began to dissipate, as well as the battle cries of his classmates.

“Oh, no. Are you alright, Professor?” That was Raphael’s voice, now clearly audible behind him as a crystalline quiet began to return to the sunlit leaves, which was only punctuated by the sparse clash of blades in the distance.

“Don’t worry. He was an outlier, but—we shouldn’t be expecting any others that strong…” 

Byleth’s voice sounded strained, and Raphael responded, “That’s not what I’m worried about!”

Claude maintained focus as he finished dispatching the enemy in front of him, before turning around to see what had happened.

An assassin lay dead at Byleth’s feet. Byleth himself was looking unsteady, the sword slipping from his bleeding arm that dangled from his side. He clutched at his forearm where the wound was, staring at it with enough intensity to suggest to Claude that there was something concerning about it—even if his professor’s expression wouldn’t give any indication of that.

Placing his arrow back in his quiver, Claude moved quickly towards them while still surveying the area for other enemies. Now all the battle noises had completely ceased—it was likely that the fight was over. 

As he drew near, he glanced at the blade that was clutched in the dead man’s hand. It was dripping both blood and a clear liquid. 

“Teach, you…” Claude said. Byleth looked up to meet his gaze, the steeliness of his eyes beginning to melt into a fevered disorientation. “What are your symptoms?”

“Pain spreading in the arm,” Byleth said curtly, “like it’s burning with cold. Muscles aren’t working.”

“Everyone, we need you over here—now,” Claude called out, methodically and without hesitation. There wouldn’t be much time.

The rest of the Golden Deer gathered in little time, confusion alighting upon all their sweat-streaked faces as they got a good glimpse of their professor.

“Professor! What is happening?” Lorenz asked as Byleth swayed precariously. Claude grabbed his shoulder, helping to lower him into a seated position against a nearby tree trunk.

“Take a good guess,” Claude said, before asking, “Does anyone here know what dawnberries and arcturus look like?” When he saw Marianne and Ignatz nod, he pointed at each of them in turn as he assigned a task to each. “Gather at least three of the berries and a bundle of the arcturus. The roots aren’t important, but keep as much of the stems as possible. There should be plenty of both in this area. Take no more than fifteen minutes.”

Struggling to straighten himself up, Byleth added in labored breaths, “Ignatz, take Lorenz and Hilda with you...Marianne, with Leonie and Raphael. The area may still be dangerous. ...Don’t let your guard down...”

“Um...okay,” Hilda said, brow furrowed with worry as she glanced back at him over her shoulder. Even in this state, he couldn’t stop being their professor. 

As the others left, Claude turned to Lysithea. “Can you keep watch while I look at Teach’s wound?” he said seriously, without any of the usual banter.

“Just leave it to me,” she replied, readying a spell as she stepped out in front of them to get a better view of the surrounding forest.

Kneeling in front of Byleth, Claude took his hand in his, slipping the gauntlet from his arm. He murmured, “Don’t move. Keep your arm low.” Without jostling or lifting the wounded arm, Claude lowered himself down near where it lay on the ground, looking as though he were bowing.

There was just the slightest hesitation before he placed his mouth over the cut on Byleth’s wrist.

“You don’t have to—” Byleth started, wincing. He focused on not letting his arm twitch in discomfort as he felt the burn of the poison, the pain of the wound, the sensitive feeling of Claude’s mouth closed over his skin.

Ignoring him, Claude turned away briefly, spitting out a stream of blood in a thin arc.

“Don’t worry. I’ve had worse stuff in my mouth before.” He paused, a disgruntled look briefly flashing across his eyes before he added, “Don’t, ah, take that out of context, alright?”

Before Byleth could respond, he went back to work, returning his mouth to Byleth’s wound. He sucked and spat out several more mouthfuls of blood, keeping one hand pressed to the side of his face to lift his braid out of the way. 

Taking a second pause, Claude caught his breath, wiping at the blood staining his mouth with the back of his wrist. “To be honest, there’s no evidence that this helps. But it’s hard to sit around and do nothing,” he admitted quietly. “At least because of your Crest, you’re not likely to get infected.”

“Won’t you...be in trouble if you ingest...any of the toxin yourself...?” Byleth asked.

Claude didn’t look concerned about that being a possibility, though his expression gave away nothing else. 

His eyes watched a trickle of cold sweat run down the side of Byleth’s temple.

“If I were you, that wouldn’t be something I’d worry about right now,” was all that he replied as he bent back down.

“I've never seen you...work with poisons that are lethal, but...you seem to know a lot about them…”

“I’ve got many talents.”

The next few minutes were spent in silence. Byleth continued to watch Claude work, remaining calmly quiet even when everything around him was starting to blur together. Even when Claude’s figure, dappled with warm sunlight, began to blur, too.

Marianne’s party returned first, Leonie grabbing the bundle of herbs from Marianne and sprinting on ahead.

As she reached them, Byleth and Claude turned to look at her at the same time, speaking over each other:

“Was anyone hurt?” asked Byleth.

“Was anyone followed?” asked Claude.

“Uh...no, and no,” Leonie replied matter-of-factly after taking just a moment to parse out what they’d said. 

She held up more than enough of the arcturus and Claude took it from her, Ignatz’s group now making their way back as well. He jogged up and grabbed the berries from Ignatz without a word, shoving them with the herbs into his mouth.

“Ew,” Hilda said, quickly putting two and two together as she watched Claude chew.

Walking back towards Byleth with haste, Claude shrugged as he took out his flask, emptying half of the water inside onto the ground before raising it to his lips, spitting a good amount of the mixture into it.

“Can’t be picky,” he responded simply. He capped his flask, giving it a good shake before handing it to Byleth.

“Drink up. The rest will go into your bloodstream, all right?” he said carefully around the pocket of juices still in his mouth, the back of his hand raised in front of his face.

Byleth did his best to nod, not being in any position to be squeamish. He drank the flask that Claude offered him decisively, remaining expressionless through the shockingly bitter taste. His teeth clenched around the flask as he felt Claude’s mouth wrap around his wound again, a numbing feeling spreading through his injured arm as the rest of the juices were delivered.

“Whoa, that’s…” Ignatz said as the rest of the Golden Deer watched, some of them making faces as they imagined the unpleasantness of the sensation.

“You’ll feel messed up for a while as the poison and cure continue knocking around in your system, but you won’t get any worse,” Claude said. He snatched Byleth’s water flask as he stood back up, unabashedly putting it right to his lips as he took a swig to wash the taste of medicine from his mouth.

“So is the professor going to be alright?” Lysithea asked.

“H-how are you feeling, Professor…?” Marianne added.

They all watched with a bit of trepidation as Byleth braced himself against the tree trunk, pushing himself up into a standing position.

“...Better…” he said, making the effort to nod reassuringly when he saw the uncertainty on their faces. “I’ll be slow, but...I’m already improving. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

He blinked as he received an influx of words—scoldings, assertions that it was fine, and exclamations of relief—along with offers from Raphael to carry him back to the monastery, which Byleth kept refusing with some kind of excuse. Claude couldn’t help but wonder if Byleth’s refusals had anything to do with his pride—assuming his professor felt pride to begin with.

With that settled, the atmosphere returned to normal well enough as the Golden Deer concluded the mission. The area was scouted to confirm that it was safe to move freely, and then supplies and weapons that the thieves had dropped were gathered. As the others left to check on the village that the thieves had attacked, Claude stayed behind to keep an eye on Byleth’s condition.

Giving a sidelong look as Byleth insisted on helping pack the caravans, Claude noted, “The rest of us really had an easy time of that mission. So what happened with that guy?”

“The assassin was unusually strong,” Byleth said as he wiped off a sword, sheathing it and placing it with the rest of the inventory.

“ _You’re_ unusually strong.”

“They were strong enough to throw my composure.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Claude said with a callous snort as he glanced at Byleth’s neutral expression, before covering himself. “Er, I mean, you’re not the kind of person to freak out, or turn tail and run. Not like our old professor, anyway.”

“I wasn’t concerned for myself,” Byleth said, his hand stilling as it landed on the assassin’s sword, procured from the battlefield and now wiped of most of its poison. He stared down at his face reflected in the blade before closing his fingers around the hilt. “Regardless of the reason behind it, I was unacceptably careless.”

“Well, I guess you owe me now, huh?” Claude teased, his eyes shutting wincingly above his smile as though he’d found something distasteful in what he’d just said. “Forget it. Bad joke.”

“Claude…”

He turned to look at Byleth, wondering if he should expect a reprimand.

Byleth regarded him a moment, eyes traveling to the faded smear of blood that still stained the side of his mouth.

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he touched it to Claude’s face as he wiped away the blood.

“Thank you,” Byleth said.

Claude’s green eyes returned Byleth’s gaze haltingly, before drifting down to the sword belt around Byleth’s waist, and then closing as he took a step back. 

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he said with the usual smile as he turned back to his work, replacing the distance between them.

* * *

> “I see danger's love, see danger's cut/
> 
> It slices eyes afraid to believe in me/
> 
> I hear silent doubt staring through it all/
> 
> It keeps asking, asking
> 
> [...]
> 
> Liana, Liana/
> 
> Don't answer, just tangle around me…”
> 
> -“Liana” by The Joy Formidable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, sucking the blood out doesn’t work. But it makes for good fictional set-ups!
> 
> So we’re already at the swapping spit stage of the relationship, which is…like...fifth base by slowburn standards, right?? We're moving fast, right?? Spittin' out some blood...chewin' some grass...classic courtship.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cruel moments in Byleth's and Claude's childhoods are glimpsed. In the present, Byleth and Claude circle around each other as they struggle to reach an understanding. After experiencing a new kind of pain, Byleth says something to Claude that disappoints him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof, these chapters are turning out wayyyy longer than I want them to. It’s just hard not to want to cram all the vignettes I’ve finished so far into each chapter, as I’m kind of excited about all of them. (Slow burns are painfulllllll!) It’s for the best, though...honestly, I’m still trying to put a lot of the later ones in order, eheh…
> 
> CW: Vivid description of physical and emotional abuse; attempted violent assault; neglect; brief descriptions of battlefield violence

> “My heart is as sharp as a sonnet/
> 
> I could crack an egg right on it, honest/
> 
> Every time I should’ve said so/
> 
> Gets stuck inside of this ‘no’/
> 
> No…”
> 
> -”With Great Purpose” by Frankie Cosmos

* * *

Internalize - Twelve years ago 

“I don’t know what father sees in you,” Hashim jeered as he stepped on Khalid’s hand, gradually applying more and more pressure. Khalid’s cheekbone dug into the floor as he tried to look up at his brother. He did his best to hold the tears back from his eyes, so that no one would see them. “Look at how easy it is to overpower you.”

A couple of Hashim’s friends snickered from behind him as they hung back, looking down at Khalid as Hashim lifted up his other foot and stomped it down into the square of Khalid’s back.

Khalid grit his teeth. He’d flinched, but he still managed not to cry.

There was no point in disagreeing, or agreeing, or even apologizing. Maybe there was a point in fighting. But his brother was bigger than he was, and he couldn’t move.

He couldn’t move. 

Khalid tried to scramble up with his legs, to push Hashim’s weight off of him. He wrenched his arm as hard as he could, to try to get it out from under his brother’s foot, only to watch with greater panic and humiliation as he couldn’t do it. 

_He couldn’t move._

Hashim began laughing as he lifted his boot from Khalid’s back, tauntingly, inviting him to try again.

“Come on, aren’t you going to use one of your little plans to escape? After all, father says that you’re just _so clever._ ” Hashim all but spat that last word as though it were a poison that had filled him to the brim. “You’re not just a coward, Khalid. You’re patheti— _._ ”

He froze and looked up, along with his lackeys behind him. Khalid’s mother had just stepped into the hall from the vestibule. As she saw the scene in front of her, a fire ignited in her eyes.

Khalid’s mouth parted.

“Help...” he breathed softly. There was something burning in his head, behind his eyes—like shame, or fear—and it prevented him from speaking it louder.

He saw his mother clench her fists.

And she said, “Get up, Khalid. Go get ‘em back! You’re strong. You can do it!”

Those were the words that came from his mother’s mouth.

Khalid’s eyes were wide in disbelief as he stared back at her.

It didn’t make sense. She had to know that it didn’t make sense, right? She was a grown-up. 

None of it made any sense.

Tearing his eyes away from her, Khalid’s face turned down to the floor.

A cold feeling filled his head, running down his throat and into the pits of his stomach. No one was going to make it stop, were they?

No—not anyone.

As Khalid fell silent and still on the floor, Hashim’s brow furrowed in annoyance. As though suddenly bored, he stepped off of him and began stalking away, his friends trailing behind him and muttering curses Khalid’s way as they left.

Khalid’s mother rushed to his side as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, tousling his hair and planting a kiss on the top of his head.

“Hey. Hey, now,” she said, lightly bumping the side of his chin with her fist as she rubbed his back. “It’s alright. Buck up! You’ll get him next time.” 

Right. Next time. There was going to be a next time.

What his mother saw as a “challenge”, Khalid now recognized as an inevitability.

The word “help” had once again entered Khalid’s throat—and he swallowed it down, down, deep inside of himself as he wrapped his arms around his own shoulders, as if to guard himself from the rest of the blows that he knew would come.

* * *

Slow Thaw 

“Are you sure this dish needs sugar?” Byleth asked as he placed a small sack into Claude’s outstretched palm. They were supposed to be following a pretty standard recipe to make a health-boosting meal for the rest of the class, but Claude was adding quite a few extra ingredients.

“I just think a little sweetness could help bring out the savory taste.” Claude tossed a pinch into the pot he was stirring and took a sip from the ladle. “Not bad!” He handed the sack back to Byleth and ran his arm across his forehead, his uniform and hair dotted with spots of sauce and various white powders.

"About the tournament today…" Byleth ventured as he cinched the sack shut and placed it back on the kitchen shelves.

"I could do with more conditioning, yeah? But there's no competing with how tough their Royal Highnesses are. Hmph. Aren't princes and princesses supposed to be dainty in the storybooks?" Claude muttered to himself as he grabbed a vial of Ailell pepper seeds.

"That’s not actually necessary. You shouldn’t change what you’re doing—"

"This again? Let's throw down the club and leave the proverbial dead horse alone, okay?" Claude jabbed his arm in a harsh downward motion, dumping an excruciating amount of the pepper seeds into the pot. The stew turned a noxious shade of red.

"Shoot, I didn't mean to do that,” he said, smacking a hand to his forehead and leaving another sauce stain on his face. "Well, my cooking can be hit or miss…"

Byleth took the ladle from Claude and tasted the concoction. The two of them froze for a few seconds as Byleth’s mouth pursed just slightly.

"It's bad, right?" Claude asked as he gauged Byleth’s reaction.

"...I’ve...had worse..." Byleth said hoarsely. His face had turned an unusual flushed color.

Claude rolled his eyes as he extinguished the stove and began stepping away from the kitchen. "You don't have to spare my feelings, you know. In fact, I'd rather you didn't." Byleth blinked in confusion, watching him as he approached one of the servers in the Dining Hall and returned moments later with a bowl of sorbet. “Here.”

Byleth placed a spoonful upside-down in his mouth, closing his eyes as he let the cool sweetness sit on his tongue. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Claude was staring at him with an odd mixture of amusement and bitterness. "Is something the matter?"

"I guess it depends,” Claude said breezily, resting the backs of his elbows on the counter. “I mean, if you were getting an earful of empty compliments and lies all day, would that bother you? Or not at all?”

"...Oh."

"Teach, just...tell me the truth. What did I do wrong in the tournament? I have some ideas, but I want to know what you think. It'd really help me."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Claude,” Byleth said.

Claude laughed, but he didn’t sound happy. "C’mon. Don't tell me stuff like that." 

"Like what?"

Claude reached up to grab at his own shoulder, as though massaging a sore spot there. "Don't tell me that there's nothing I can do if I’m...up against someone stronger than me."

The bowl of sorbet in Byleth’s hands was so cold and numbing that it was starting to hurt. "I never said that."

"Not word for word, sure. But then, what did you mean, exactly?” Claude said with an easy shrug that seemed counter to how he was actually feeling. “That I can do everything right and still lose to people like Dimitri and Edelgard?"

"I just meant that you're improving. They have a more singular focus in their training than you, while you’re constantly trying out new things—in your technique, in how you read their movements—I can see that. And that’s going to mean that you won’t be able to do everything right the first time, or even the next. The important thing, however, is that you’re making the attempt. Improvements require mistakes...but I have a feeling that you know that already.” Byleth’s brow softened as he added, “Besides, I’ve seen you use longbows with a greater draw strength than what’s required to wield a normal weapon. Edelgard and Dimitri aren't stronger than you.” At that, Claude met his eyes, a hint of surprise just barely shaping his expression. “You don't believe me?"

Rubbing the back of his head, Claude said, "I don't have a good reason _not_ to believe you, do I? And here I was, thinking that being lied to again and again would be reason enough. Darn." He said everything in such a glib tone that it took a minute for Byleth to process what was actually said. By that point, Claude had already moved on. "You win, Teach. But just because you butter me up doesn't mean I'll be your biscuit."

"...What?"

Claude took Byleth’s spoon from the sorbet bowl and helped himself to a bite. 

"What does someone have to do to get _you_ all buttered, I wonder?" he said as he pulled the spoon from his mouth, gesturing with it vaguely in the air as if he were talking about something as casual as the weather. His eyes trailed down Byleth’s body, pausing just below his waist. "If I were in danger, would you swing that sword of yours to protect me?" He nodded at the Sword of the Creator that was sheathed at Byleth’s side.

"Of course,” Byleth said plainly, only hesitating when Claude offered him another spoonful of sorbet, holding it right up to his mouth. 

"What if it were to make me happy?” he said more quietly, eyelids lowering. “Would you do it then?"

Byleth politely took the spoon away from Claude’s hand before taking a bite. Swallowing, he said, "If it would make you happy, then I would. Within reason."

Claude laughed then, as though he’d been practicing. "Don't worry, Teach. I'm not gonna ask you to smite anybody with extreme prejudice, or anything unreasonable like that." He set down the bowl and, glancing at how the sunlight was slanting through the Dining Hall windows, made to excuse himself. “Let’s put this interesting conversation on hold for now. I’ve gotta get a few more things done before sundown.”

As he squeezed past Byleth to get out of the kitchen, Byleth murmured softly, "Would it be enough?" 

Claude stopped in his tracks.

"...What was that?"

Byleth placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Would there be anything I could do with this sword...would there be any simple action I could take...that would be enough to make you happy?" He didn’t voice his doubt aloud, but Claude seemed to get the message loud and clear.

Claude’s eyelids lowered again, but with chill instead of avarice—as if he’d suddenly found the conversation rather dull—or more like he’d found the entire state of things to be dull.

With an easy smile, he raised a hand in goodbye as he left.

"Humor me for long enough, and we can find out."

* * *

Hurt - Fourteen years ago 

Byleth looked down at his fist, which was throbbing and ringing oddly. Then he looked at the boy lying on the ground. 

He was wailing and screaming as he clutched his face. Blood was coming from his mouth. Byleth’s eyes traveled along the grass until he saw where the tooth lay. It was probably a baby tooth. That was good. The boy would get a new tooth.

So why was he crying so much?

Byleth didn’t cry when the boy hit him.

After he thought about it some more, Byleth walked over to where the tooth was and picked it up from the ground. He walked towards the boy, holding out his hand.

The boy scrabbled backwards. “Don’t—don’t hurt me any more! Leave me alone!”

Byleth gestured with his hand, opening it so that the boy could see the tooth in his palm. “Here.”

Falling onto his side, the boy raised his hands in front of his face. “Mommy! Mommy, help!”

Mommy?

Byleth’s ears twitched as he heard a woman shouting from behind him, from the fields.

Oh.

“Monster! Get away from my boy!” she yelled as she ran up to him. Her hand twisted on his shoulder, throwing him backwards as she moved past him. “What happened? Did he hurt you?” She kneeled by her son’s side and helped him up, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, her farming sickle dangling from her other hand. As she inspected him, she saw the blood in his mouth.

“How dare you,” she said, her back still turned. She wasn’t shouting anymore, but somehow that made her sound angrier. 

“My father said that if someone hit me, I should hit them back,” Byleth said. The woman didn’t seem to understand Byleth’s explanation. Standing to her feet, she wheeled around. There were a lot of new lines on her face from how it was clenching in rage. And the sickle was being raised in the air.

Byleth had been trained for stuff like this, but this looked like something real. Different.

He could see Jeralt moving in his peripheral vision, suddenly coming closer, closer, but he couldn’t move. Why was that? He had heard of people being paralyzed by fear, but he didn’t feel afraid.

Right?

Now his father was right in front of him.

The sickle was—

“Jeralt,” the woman said numbly, in shock. Numb. Byleth understood her, now. 

Byleth understood numb.

Blood. Blood from his father’s shoulder. Blood dripping on Byleth’s face.

“Don’t worry, kid. We’ll get all this cleaned up,” Jeralt said. He was kneeling on one knee as he smiled down at his son. How did he get there so fast?

With little more than a grunt, he pulled the sickle out of his shoulder as he got to his feet.

“Our sons had a tiff, did they?” Jeralt asked calmly, turning around. The woman looked absolutely pale as she took back her sickle.

“I suppose we can understand each other,” she said stiffly as she helped her son to his feet. “We were both defending our children.”

Jeralt raised an eyebrow, giving a quick glance to the bruise that was on Byleth’s jaw. “By the look of things, my son was defending himself from yours. Just as I had to defend him from you.”

The farmer shook her head as she wiped her sickle off on the grass. “Funny how _your_ child is always the innocent one when things like this happen. I bet you that you’d let him get away with murder,” she noted coldly. “You’d better leave town. We appreciate your work here, Jeralt, but there’s only so much we can put up with.”

“Fuck you.”

Everyone turned to stare at Byleth.

Byleth had seen wounds on his father after a mission, but he had never seen someone wound him before. His face hadn’t changed, but his entire body felt cold. He felt a compulsion to pull out his dagger and point it at this farmer, but he didn’t understand why. She was just an ordinary person. He couldn’t justify it.

“What? What the hell did you say to me?” the woman snapped.

“Whoops. It’s not our job to get tangled with civilians. C’mon, kid,” Jeralt said, just as the farmer looked like she was about to start shouting at them. He scooped up Byleth with one arm, on his uninjured side, and turned from her before she had the chance to fully speak her mind.

Pulling out a handkerchief, he wiped the blood off of Byleth’s face as they walked away in silence.

After enough distance had been put between them and the mother and child, Jeralt said, “You really wanted to throw a punch at her.”

“You got injured,” Byleth said, staring down at his father’s shoulder. The wound wrapped around the top of it, extending a little to both his back and his front. Byleth didn’t like being held up high, close to where it was. “I thought you would knock away her weapon. That was the best move. But you didn’t.” His voice was bordering on something accusatory.

“Maybe I could’ve made it to the sickle in time, but maybe not. I wasn’t going to risk putting you in danger, so I had to make a split-second decision—I thought that shielding you would be the less risky option,” Jeralt said plainly. “Neutralizing the threat first might have seemed like the best option to you, but to me, it wasn’t. There’s a difference between dealing with enemies alone, and dealing with them when there’s someone else around.” 

Byleth’s gaze turned inward as he took this new information into account.

After a minute of silence, Jeralt grunted as Byleth prodded his wound with a finger, unaware of his father’s discomfort. 

“...Does it hurt?” his son asked.

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing that’d slow me down.” Byleth closed his eyes and rested his forehead by the wound, getting blood on his bangs—his strange way of trying to connect with someone else’s pain, Jeralt figured. “Hey, now. Don’t get it infected.”

“If you don’t want an infection, you shouldn’t get injured,” Byleth said, blinking as his father burst into laughter.

“I really made you cross, didn’t I? I’m honored. Really,” Jeralt said with a small grin, tousling the top of his son’s head. “But I’m your father. I don’t need anyone to look out for me. Just worry about protecting yourself.”

The sun was setting around them, setting the grain fields aflame in swaths of amber and yellow ochre. As their shadows stretched longer and longer, Jeralt continued speaking. 

“I might not be around forever. And if I’m gone, people might keep getting the wrong idea about you. They might want to take advantage of you. So you have to learn to take care of yourself first, alright?”

Scarlet tinged the edges of Byleth’s hair as he stared back at his father. After a pause, he nodded, though it was unclear if he truly understood or not.

“Good. Stay safe. Stay alive,” his father said, looking away almost somberly. “If nothing else, that’s the one thing you should care about.”

* * *

Solo Duet 

Claude’s hands were frozen on his bow, a dry breeze stirring the grass under his feet.

The enemy managed to separate him and Byleth from the rest of the group, but that was about all that the enemy managed. As they fought to return to the others, the battle proved to be all too easy. Claude felt that he knew what to do at every moment. 

A tremor in Byleth’s arms as he parried a brigand’s sword, and Claude would fire an arrow so that the enemy had to jump back instead of pressing forward. A rise in Byleth’s shoulders as he inhaled, and Claude aimed to the right as he dodged to the left. Another intake of breath, another arrow aimed to the right, and...

The stumble in Byleth’s footsteps as Claude’s arrow sank into one of his shoulder blades.

What...had happened?

The enemy hadn’t been expecting this, either. Byleth took advantage of his distraction to lock blades again, the two of them struggling as he twisted their swords out of both of their hands.

"I'm fine! Fire now!" Byleth shouted, backing away as the brigand started to rush him.

Claude knew to release the arrow. He knew. 

His fingers were shaking. His hands wouldn't open.

Suddenly, his precision didn't seem to matter. Not when Byleth's head was so close to the enemy's. Not when he could no longer tell where Byleth would move next. 

"Damn it." Claude dropped his weapons as he sprinted forward, pulling out his sword.

The brigand had managed to grab Byleth’s cloak before he saw Claude coming closer. With a curse, he let go and made a dash for his weapon on the ground, but Claude’s sword was upon him too quickly—and like that, the matter was done.

Claude focused on keeping his breathing level as he watched the body bleed out on the ground. It was something he’d long been used to—another life on his hands. Another death that wasn’t his own.

Hearing Byleth grunt in pain, Claude spun around. Byleth had grabbed the shaft of the arrow and, in one deft motion, tore it from his back.

“Sens—Sensei,” Claude said, sheathing his sword and running up to him. "You were supposed to run left…" His voice just barely shrunk away before he corrected himself. "That's—that's not the phrasing I was going for. I meant, that's what I thought you were going to do. That's why I--"

"It's alright, Claude." Gripping his own shoulder, Byleth noted the way that the hill they were on gradually sloped upward, just off to the side. "Turning left would have given me the terrain advantage. Knowing my experience, you naturally anticipated that I'd move optimally. But I didn't." Stooping down with some effort, he took the fallen brigand’s levin sword and held it up. 

"This sword can strike close, or at a distance. The enemy was under a lot of pressure from your fire, and was desperate to get rid of that pressure. I turned right to block him from striking his target." He met Claude’s eyes. "You."

For once, Claude had fallen quiet. Byleth gently patted the top of his head, his unkempt hair giving way under the touch. "That's the difference between fighting with others, and fighting alone.”

As Byleth removed his hand, Claude tried to regain some of his footing. “I mean, yeah. When you say it like that, it makes it so simple,” he said lightly, tucking his hands behind his head. He didn’t want anyone thinking that he was less experienced when it came to this kind of combat.

Byleth stared at him a moment before stepping away, as though unconvinced. He walked off to retrieve his discarded sword from the ground.

As Claude watched him, his mind wanted to continue guessing, predicting, trying to stay one step ahead. Trying to understand. But was that really wise?

Had he really gotten things so wrong?

As Byleth returned with Claude’s bow and arrow, his eyes softened, and Claude didn’t know why—just as he didn’t know why, as he felt the weapons get pressed into his hand, Byleth’s hands could still be so steady after what had happened.

“I know you’ll get it right,” Byleth said. “Next time.” 

Next time.

He didn’t realize how this terrifyingly effortless promise filled Claude with something akin to resentment. 

Or more like...a strange flavor of gratitude that felt more like sadness.

* * *

Dialogue 1 

“Say, what’s something that you’ve never 

told anyone else before?”

“What makes you ask?”

“Just asking for fun.”

“...”

“...So?”

“...”

“Hey, if you don’t wanna tell me, just say so.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“How very convincing.”

“...I think there’s too much…”

“...Too much what?”

“There are just...many things that I haven’t 

told anyone.”

“...And why is that?”

“...”

“Is it because you’re an outsider, 

too?”

“Perhaps. But…”

“Because you don’t want to 

disappoint others? Face their 

disapproval?”

“I’m not sure…”

“Because they don’t care to know? 

Because they can’t be trusted to know?”

“...”

“Or is it just that they don’t need to know?”

“Do _you_ need to know?”

“Well, I want to.”

“...”

“... _Do_ I need to know?”

“...Why do you want to...”

“...”

“...”

“Okay, now even I’m getting a little confused, 

haha.”

“Sorry.”

“...Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to 

bother you.”

“...You’re not bothering me.”

* * *

Cracking Shell 

The Golden Deer were heading back to Garreg Mach, fresh from a battle along the Rhodos Coast. Now that the mission was complete and everyone was exhausted, the pace was much more relaxed on the return journey. 

Slipping away from the group, Claude wandered from the caravans as he looked around at the saltwater swamps that now surrounded them. He’d read up on such things, but he hadn’t seen terrain like this firsthand before. He assumed that areas like this would be bug-infested and unsightly, but the air was clean and calm. Some of the trees that towered around the area were actually shooting straight out of the pools of water, like an interesting abstract art piece. 

His boots stopped at the edge of one of the pools. The sky was reflected in its surface, thrown upside down against the ground.

As he peered his head down at his own reflection, he saw his head floating down in that sky. He was still wearing a smile, even though no one was around.

Exhaling, Claude took a step back, running a hand over his mouth. Had he turned into a creature of habit?

There was a rustle of leaves and clothing behind him. His hand twitched on impulse, but he stilled. The movements were friendly—of someone who clearly wasn’t trying to conceal their presence.

“Are you alright?” Byleth asked, stepping next to him.

“Hey, Teach. What’s up?” Claude asked, glancing at him askance. Byleth’s hand had been resting on the pommel of his sword, but as he surveyed their empty surroundings, he removed it.

“I wanted to see what you were doing,” he said. His eyes were without reproach—it seemed that he wasn’t interested in scolding Claude for going off on his own.

“So you can be curious, too,” Claude remarked. Whether it was a throwaway line, a jab made in irony, or something meant to draw a common thread between them...that was left up to interpretation.

Byleth looked back at Claude impassively.

There was an abrupt sound of flapping and feathers, and Byleth stumbled a little as a duck landed haphazardly on his head.

Claude felt the urge to laugh, and he swallowed it down. “Well, hello, there,” he said cheerily, waving as the duck looked around, its beady eyes paying him little mind.

“What is it doing?” Byleth asked as the duck folded on its legs, settling down comfortably as it opened and closed its beak.

“Just relaxing, by the looks of it,” Claude said, placing his hands behind his head in amusement before noting that Byleth was remaining very still for the duck’s sake. “So, you like animals?”

“Animals don’t misunderstand people as often as people themselves do. And animals are easy to understand, in turn. ...Typically,” Byleth said, brow lowering in a bit of consternation. “...It’s not leaving, is it?”

“Your hair kind of makes for a perfect nest,” Claude said with a smirk, only for Byleth to give him an intense stare. “...What?”

“Are you saying that my hair is unkempt?” Byleth said. The phrasing sounded accusatory, but the tone of his voice was the same as ever.

Claude gave a shrug. “Well, sure, but it makes sense. You’re a former mercenary, plus you’re always busy these days. You haven’t got the time to focus on your image.”

“But that’s something that professors do, isn’t it?” Byleth said, this time more quietly so that he was almost mumbling. “Professors Hanneman and Manuela deliberately look the way they do.”

In a few seconds, it finally clicked in Claude’s head. His professor—the mercenary—the “Ashen Demon”—was feeling self-conscious. 

“I don’t think it really matters,” Claude said, the sympathy entering his voice easily, naturally—more than he meant it to. “Everyone’s on pretty friendly terms with you, so worrying over formal stuff probably won’t change anything. Besides, people already respect you just fine—” 

He cut himself short when the duck finally stood, revealing a freshly laid egg balanced in the middle of Byleth’s head. He snorted loudly, curling a hand in front of his mouth.

“...What is it?” Byleth asked, cautiously tilting his head back to look at whatever it was up there that was making Claude act so strangely.

“No, no, don’t—m-move,” Claude managed to say, now smothering his mouth under his palm as he turned his head to the side, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. In moments, he was laughing freely, voice ringing through the trees.

When he finally got a hold of himself, he found Byleth staring at his eyes, mouth slightly parted as if surprised by something. 

“Hoo, okay, okay. Okay,” Claude said, wiping the corner of his eye. “Let’s get that thing off of you before it falls and breaks.”

The duck opened its beak to hiss at him as he reached a hand towards it.

“Take it easy. You were the one who decided to come bother us, remember?” he said softly, taking the egg in his hand. “Easy, I said. Easy!” Beating its wings, the duck clamped its beak on his fingers as hard as it could, which wasn’t very hard.

Byleth wasted no time in drawing his sword, and Claude jumped back. “Whoa, Teach, it’s alright! It doesn’t hurt, I’m fine,” he said hurriedly, waving both hands at Byleth in an attempt to appease him, one holding up an egg, the other dangling a very angry duck.

After a brief pause, Byleth’s face took on a rare pink hue. “I—sorry,” he muttered, sheathing his sword.

“I thought you liked animals. What’s gotten into you?” Claude asked him, setting the egg on the ground and shaking off the duck. He danced back a few steps as it resumed hissing and pursuing his boots, though before long it lost interest and turned back to tend to its egg. “Yeah, that’s right, you’d better waddle off! Or else you’ll become a roasted duck skewer—courtesy of my professor, and what might be one of the most disproportionate displays of force the world has ever seen!” 

Shaking his head with a grin, he glanced up to see Byleth staring at the ground as he patted his hair down with his hands.

“I apologize. I should go,” Byleth said abruptly, one of his hands pausing on top of his head as he remembered himself. He corrected, “We should go. The others will have to wait for us if we stay here any longer.”

“Um, okay,” Claude said with a bit of a snort as Byleth turned on his heel and began marching away. For once, he held off on the teasing comments as he trailed curiously behind him.

All this embarrassment over one little comment? Or was there something more to it?

Now would have been a good time to ask Byleth some pointed questions—the idiom back in Almyra was to “shoot at the thing that’s already been shot”. 

But for some reason, as Claude found himself staring at the back of Byleth’s head, he never ended up asking him anything.

The rest of the return went without much incident, and the next day, the Golden Deer were sitting in the classroom as usual, resuming the normal schedule now that the free day had come and gone.

“We just had a mission! Can’t we take the day off?” Hilda complained from the back of the classroom, stretching out the sore muscles in her arms.

From his inconspicuous seat towards the middle, Claude just shook his head. He flipped a page of the book that was nestled on his lap and continued jotting down scraps of information.

“Nemesis sent a bolt of lightning raining down from the sky...exploding part of the earth itself...but then the bolt of lightning turned into a sword?” he mouthed under his breath, the fingers of his idle hand bringing the tip of his braid to his mouth. The part about the transformation had to be a misapprehension from the eyewitness. Either way, it sounded like...

Hilda’s voice once again rang out, but this time in excitement. “Professor! Did you comb your hair?” she exclaimed as soon as Byleth stepped into the classroom.

Claude glanced up from his notes. Byleth’s hair was, indeed, combed painstakingly back, revealing more of his face—though Claude couldn’t help but notice that, despite what appeared to be his best efforts, a sprout of hair was still sticking up from his head.

Byleth blinked at Hilda’s comment, seemingly caught off-guard by her reaction. “Yes.”

“Hey! Why the sudden change?” Leonie said, leaning forward on her desk to get a better look.

"I've been made aware that I could be conducting myself more maturely. I wanted to...appear better,” Byleth said, his words simultaneously straightforward and clunky. His cheeks appeared to be heating up.

Hilda clapped her hands together, bringing them to the side of her face. “Aw, for us? That’s just the sweetest thing!”

“You didn’t need to do that, Professor,” Leonie said with a smile.

“It looks nice, though!” Ignatz added.

“Um…” Byleth glanced down as his students peppered him with compliments, as though this were something he had never experienced before.

Of course, Claude noted, the others were eating this right up.

With a twirl of his quill pen, he placed his attentions back on his work.

He doubted this change in habits would last long. Byleth had clearly been wanting to command more respect, and the experiment backfired. 

Instead, he had just made everyone see that he was actually really—

Claude’s quill skidded to a halt on his paper. He felt blood rush to his face as he looked down at what he’d just written. 

_cute._

Maintaining his relaxed posture so that no one would look his way, Claude scribbled out the word, passing over it repeatedly until there was a sizable splotch of ink soaking through the middle of his paper.

* * *

New Sorrows 

In hindsight, there were no discernible flaws in Byleth’s plan.

But he couldn’t have known that the intelligence the Knight of Seiros had given him was in error. And because of this one oversight, his students would be the ones to pay for it.

The enemy was, as was to be discovered, in higher number than what was reported, allowing an unexpected number of bandits to sneak up behind Byleth and the others in their hideout. 

“From behind—” Byleth shouted as he heard concealed footsteps from a distance, and reacting only a fraction of a second later, Claude’s voice overlapped with a muttered “shit” as they both turned around. The rest of the Golden Deer reacted only another moment after, but that infinitesimal amount of time was enough.

Marianne’s voice came from her mouth louder than anyone had ever heard, but still so quiet, somehow. The noise was nothing terrible, nothing intelligible, as she sank to the ground, one arrow sticking out from her shoulder, the other having found its mark in her thigh. Blood was pouring from around the second arrow freely—it must have hit a major artery.

Lysithea ran forward, readying her Faith magic to help Marianne close the wound. Raphael moved in as well to give her some cover, before halting in his tracks.

Just as Byleth was telling himself that Marianne might be alright, that he only needed to remain focused on fending off the ambushers, he caught sight of why Raphael had stopped.

“...Profess—or...?” Raphael asked. An arrow was sticking straight out of his chest as he turned to Byleth with wide eyes, as though all he could do in this state was to look to him for advice. 

Byleth would never answer him.

Without thinking, the power of the Divine Pulse shattered through the air, and everything that had just happened had been undone.

He was standing at the entrance of the thieves’ hideout, his students surrounding him as they chatted stealthily but cheerfully, all of them confident and comfortable with the mission that lay ahead.

 _“Do not abuse my powers lightly!”_

A reprimand from Sothis echoed in Byleth’s mind, before quickly fading away. Had she fallen asleep already, or was the adrenaline running through his body making everything seem distant? 

It was true that no one had died yet—that, perhaps, if he kept going, they might have lived—but…

Those eyes…

The blood—

Blood had only bothered Byleth once before.

And death. That had never bothered him, up until n--

No—that wasn’t something to think about. Not right now.

The second time around, Byleth wasted no time in directing his students more effectively as they entered the hideout. Claude held his tongue, following Byleth with curious eyes as his professor took the current plan, which was perfect as far as anyone else knew, and for no reason changed it all on the spot. 

With Byleth now flanking the group and prepared for the sneak attack, he turned back to face the ambush exactly as it happened, and not a moment before. The time that was bought was enough—though he could hear his students behind him cursing and panicking as they scrambled in his direction, the thieves were taken care of without further trouble.

Byleth did not let go of his sword as the last enemy fell, nor did he stop moving. He strode past the crumbled pillars and ramshackle corridors that had now been turned into a battlefield, surveying the others for any major injuries.

But as he moved to examine a cut on Leonie’s shoulder, she only looked at him like he was acting strangely.

Ah. He was covered in blood. Whose blood?

The rush of the fight was making it difficult to tell if he was injured.

Well, little matter, so long as his body still worked. He was alive, and his students were alive, too. He’d made it through this battle. Just like the one before. And the one before that.

He’d killed so much in his life—inflicted injury on more people than he could count. It would be self-indulgent to get caught up in the pain of a few individuals now, but…violence no longer meant the same thing to Byleth. Not anymore.

Faces screwed up in agony as he was begged to spare them—shrieks as the ones he murdered asked him just what he was—if he was even human—they were only vague memories, mostly forgotten. But now, if that kind of pain were to be inflicted on those he cared about, scarring their minds, destroying their bodies...what would he feel?

Would he remain as “inhuman” as everyone had accused him of being thus far?

Or would he simply break?

Taking a breath to clear his mind, Byleth found himself leaning against one of the cracked pillars, suddenly feeling unsteady on his feet. Right. The bleeding.

Glancing down at his wounds, Byleth decided that they could wait a bit longer. He righted himself, and kept walking.

“Sensei.”

He still had to double-check, triple-check the areas up ahead—make sure that there were no more enemies. If the report was incorrect, then there was still no telling if this was all of them—

“Sensei.” A hand had wrapped around Byleth’s arm. “Let Marianne heal you before you go any further.”

Byleth turned around to face Claude, only to see that Claude’s serious expression had melted into surprise.

Byleth’s arms were shaking.

“Sensei, what…”

Taking his arm from Claude’s hold, Byleth rubbed his hand over his forearm distractedly. “Perhaps I’m dehydrated,” he said. The words fell on Claude’s ears, weak and hollow, and something like disappointment flashed in his eyes.

“...Yeah. Right,” Claude muttered. He brushed past Byleth, quickly enough that a cool breeze trailed behind him as he walked up to Marianne up ahead.

After exchanging some brief words, Marianne glanced over at Byleth and nodded. As she began making her way over, Byleth looked down at his hands. He was actually afraid, wasn’t he? 

Pain and suffering, trust and battered trust. In equal measure with the sudden introductions, the names and faces, the warmth of new friendships...this, too, was something that Byleth would quickly have to learn to bear.

He was still trying to learn.

It was difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would be interested in seeing units like Bernie, Ashe, and Ignatz being buff as hell for being archers. Apparently draw strengths back in the day could be super huge? Anyway, media likes to portray archers with more slight figures, but it'd be pretty fun to flip the script!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All his life, Byleth has wanted to be useful. At this point in time, he has fallen into a comfortable routine as the Golden Deer's professor. Claude is wary of certain favors, and doesn't want anyone to put him in their debt. Byleth and Claude start to understand each other a little better, and spend some time discussing flowers. Just as they're starting to grow closer, an interesting conversation comes up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIIVE! Been sidetracked by some recent life changes (all positive), and then got an infection for a while, which was...less positive--but I’m better now, and still writing! Thanks for everyone who’s sticking with this fic or for anyone new dropping in. I’m constantly getting new ideas for small stories to add to this fic, and I’m really excited to write and share them with you!
> 
> CW: Bullying; subconscious racism; a background character being REALLY pushy/not acknowledging consent

Talented - Nine years ago 

It was Byleth’s first time on a mission with people besides his father. There were two mercenaries speaking with Jeralt—one was older than his father, with a scar from his forehead down to the bridge of his nose. The other looked to be only twenty, and her nose was constantly red from drink. At the moment, they appeared to be having a disagreement of sorts.

“Come on, Jeralt,” the younger mercenary said. “You’re great and all, but even so, we’re not comfortable bringing a little squirt along.”

“You won’t have to worry about him. He can take care of himself.” Jeralt turned to Byleth, who was standing close to him. “Go on. Introduce yourself,” he said, taking a step back as he gestured his son forward.

Byleth wasn’t sure which of the mercenaries to address, so he stared straight ahead at the space between them. 

“Tell them your name, and what you do,” his father prodded.

“My name is Byleth. I kill people.”

“Er…” Jeralt made a face as the other mercenaries burst out guffawing.

“Hey, this kid seems alright!” the younger mercenary said.

“In the very least, he’s got a face that looks fearless. Maybe I won’t have nightmares if he gets injured, after all…” the older one added.

“Oh, really? Just because he’s capable doesn’t mean he isn’t a kid,” Jeralt sighed, palming his forehead. Though he shook his head as though he were tired—which didn’t make sense, Byleth observed, as it was in the middle of the day—Jeralt didn’t press the issue. 

With the matter settled, the two mercenaries hoisted their packs over their shoulders and began walking down the forest path, and Jeralt and Byleth trailed behind. 

The mission itself was relatively simple—which was likely why Jeralt agreed to take Byleth on it in the first place. It was like all the ones Byleth had been on before. He kept an eye on the terrain. He moved efficiently and unobtrusively among the party members, never being underfoot one of the adults. 

And when the enemy fell, he killed without hesitation. 

Then it was over.

The mercenaries had entirely changed in attitude on their way back to the village, singing Byleth’s praises as they clapped him on the shoulders. 

“A chip off the ol’ block, huh? Way to go, squirt!”

“You were like a demon out there. A tiny one!”

Byleth was accustomed to this kind of praise for his work, and he nodded and said the occasional “thank you” as needed.

Night had fallen by the time they returned to the inn they were staying in, having divided the reward and parted ways with the other mercenaries. 

Byleth was methodically chewing through a whole loaf of bread as he sat on the floor of their room, preferring to stay by the bed instead of eating at the tables downstairs—that was where the other patrons currently were, loud and drunk and boisterous. 

At least the kid had a healthy appetite. Though...he was being even quieter than usual tonight. His father paused polishing his sword to look down at him, brow creasing as he placed a hand on the top of his son’s head.

“Are you all right?” he asked, waiting patiently for a response, whether it be verbal or non-verbal. He counted slowly to ten, and after observing nothing from his son, he added, “It never gets easier, kid—taking a life, I mean. I want you to talk to me if it ever feels like too much, okay?”

There was a beat as Byleth swallowed the last of his mouthfuls of bread, brushing the crumbs from his fingers as he took out his dagger. He began polishing it as well, subtly mimicking his father’s technique. 

“I don’t mind,” Byleth responded then, easily, simply. “I’ll do my job. People like me when I do my job.” His head was downturned, eyes focused on the task in front of him as his small hands worked diligently.

“That’s not—” Jeralt couldn’t finish what he wanted to say. He wasn’t sure how to. He watched Byleth for a moment, before trying again. “You’re a good kid. Do you understand?”

His son didn’t say anything, but he gave a noncommittal nod.

Jeralt sighed, suddenly more tired than ever. He placed a kiss on the top of Byleth’s head, before getting ready to retire for the night.

Byleth continued to work.

* * *

In a Day 

As a mercenary, Byleth normally awoke with the sunrise, unless a mission required otherwise. Now, he woke with the gonging of the monastery bells—though today, getting out of bed felt more difficult than it'd ever been before. 

Holding a hand to his forehead, Byleth felt for a fever, but found none. Mustering up his strength, he blinked in the low light of the morning—the sunrise was appearing later and later with the fading summer. For this month, his class had the first rotation on the training grounds, and so they had to go there first thing in the morning.

Some rays of sunlight were finally peeking over the rooftops by the time he’d gotten to the training grounds. He was normally first, but today a few students were there before him. Once he’d unlocked the large doors and pushed them open, most of the others had arrived as well. Everyone took up either a training axe, training lance, or training sword to start with, as was required for the first thirty minutes. Afterwards, the more specialized students could focus on practicing other skills. 

"Professor," Lysithea called out as she trotted up to him. "Might I be excused? I just don't see the value in forcing me to waste my time on swordplay."

“I wanted you to try using a levin sword in our next mission, but a certain level of proficiency would be necessary before you could use it safely," Byleth explained. "I think it’s worth working towards, because then you could use magic by drawing on the energy of the sword, rather than draining your own. It’s always good to have a range of options. What do you think?”

"I think that makes perfect sense," Lysithea exclaimed back as she made a fist in the air. She was looking pleased that someone gave her a straight answer without talking down to her. "Thank you for clarifying that. I'll get right to work!"

As soon as she’d run off with renewed gusto, Byleth had to divert his attention to the others.

“If you don’t put your all into this morning, then you’ll have supervised training with me in the evenings,” Byleth remarked as he strolled past Hilda.

"But I _am_ putting in my all," Hilda protested sweetly as her axe dangled idly in her hand.

Byleth crossed his arms.

"Ugh, fine! I hate getting sweaty…"

As usual, Claude ran in late, tufts of his hair pointing asymmetrically from sleeping in an odd position. He yawned as he took up his bow and arrow, missing the first target entirely before striking in or near the centers of all the rest.

Once the training session was over, most of the students went directly to the men’s and women’s baths, with a few exceptions. Marianne made a feeble attempt to hide away that morning, but Hilda promptly found her and dragged her away.

“I-I’ll just make trouble if I’m around other people…” Marianne started.

“The only trouble is going to be if we’re caught dead smelling this much. Come on!”

Byleth trained separately from his students in the evenings, so he went to the Dining Hall for breakfast while they bathed. He never saw Claude go to the men’s baths with the others, either. He always claimed that he was headed to the library, although it seemed like an odd time for that sort of thing.

Afterwards, as the students grabbed a quick bite to eat, Byleth would get his lesson plan ready in the classroom. Sometimes Ignatz would pop in early to refine some sketches he'd made, away from the prying eyes of others. Byleth promised not to tell anyone about Ignatz's art without his consent, and he offered the classroom space freely for whenever he needed a private place to draw.

As the two of them worked in peaceful silence, Ignatz always looked really happy.

He hid his drawings away as the laughter and chatter of the rest of the Golden Deer reached the doors.

Claude came in a bit late again before sitting in the middle row. He kept looking up at what Byleth was writing on the chalkboard and down at the library book that was balanced in his lap, his hand scribbling furiously as it hopped between two separate sets of notes. Byleth pretended not to notice.

This lecture happened to be on pegasus gambits, and Marianne shocked everyone by answering almost every question that Byleth posed to the class. Though Byleth normally switched up who he called on for questions, he made sure to pick Marianne every time she raised her hand.

As the class drew to a close, she slumped back in her chair. She was sitting the furthest away, towards the back of the room, but even from a distance Byleth could tell that speaking up like that took a lot out of her. He felt a swelling kind of emotion, like pride.

He then accompanied his students to the Dining Hall for lunch, taking care to rotate which students he sat with and in what combination. This time, he was to eat with…

"You have my word, Professor. I have been conducting myself much more admirably as of late," Lorenz assured, his hand hovering above his food as he chatted away.

"It's true, Teach. Now he lets 'em go after the first rejection, like everyone else," Claude remarked before taking a huge chomp out of his meat skewer.

"Must you slander my name with your ridiculous claims?" Lorenz gestured widely to express his indignation, and Claude and Byleth leaned back accordingly. "There are few who would refuse someone of my caliber. Everyone knows that."

“You should try sounding more natural when you flirt," Claude said, ignoring his comment entirely. "Or, you know, _being_ more natural would be nice, too. Just because you’re assessing someone doesn’t mean they enjoy _knowing_ that you’re assessing them. After all, people are people—not paintings or test papers. Right, Teach?”

"True enough," Byleth responded in-between bites, briefly wondering if there was any irony to what Claude was saying.

“Right. Well, let’s pretend that Teach is a fair, nobly-bred maiden. Not too difficult to picture with a pretty face like that, right?” Claude turned to Lorenz. “So, what do you say?”

Lorenz sighed in frustration as he turned to his food. “Please. I am not interested in your lowbrow antics. Besides, the professor is clearly not a maiden.”

“Don’t be rude, Lorenz! The maiden is right here and can hear you, you know,” Claude said, standing from the table in mock indignation as he faced Byleth again. The usual smile. “I apologize on his behalf. How can I make it up to you?"

"I'm not especially offended," Byleth replied plainly.

"Come on," Claude said, balancing his elbows on the table as he leaned down towards Byleth. His expression was, objectively, very charming...and somehow, more distant than it was even days before. "Dinner? You and me? Sounds like a winning combination. What do you say, oh fair maiden?"

“Mm.” Byleth nodded as he finished his glass of water. “Start showing up to class on time, and then I might consider it.”

“I'm okay with that." Claude straightened back up, tossing his hands behind his head while Byleth began stacking his dishes. "And that’s how it’s done," he said to Lorenz as Byleth left the table.

“You call that a success?” Lorenz scoffed, palming his forehead in disbelief.

After lunch, Byleth returned to the classroom for everyone's free study period.

Sometimes he walked around the classroom to check on the students, but today he sat at his desk, closing his eyes and rubbing his neck whenever he thought no one was looking. His symptoms were ignorable before, but seemed to be getting worse…

"Professor, I had a question on—you're not dozing off, are you?" Leonie asked as she walked up to his desk.

"I was just thinking about something," Byleth murmured, opening his eyes again.

"Well, I’d better not catch you sleeping on the job,” Leonie teased, “or else I’ll surpass you without you even realizing it!”

"I’d like to see you do just that," Byleth said in earnest, though as he spoke, he realized he'd used a rather neutral tone of voice on accident.

Leonie must have heard it as a taunt, because she clenched her fists and said, "Oh, just you wait! I'll show you in no time.”

“What about your question?” Byleth asked as she turned to leave.

"Oh, don't worry about me. I can figure it out _myself_."

Byleth hadn't meant to pique her quite this much, but when he saw the fire that lit under her eyes as she returned to her desk, he thought that that might not have been a bad thing.

Trying to pay no mind to the chills that started running up and down his body, Byleth took a stand at the end of the free period to begin the next lecture, this time on how to treat wounds caused by different weapon types. 

He pointed at Raphael as soon as he noticed his eyes starting to glaze over. “What should you do if you’re hit by Sagittae on a battlefield?”

“Uh…” Raphael blinked rapidly as he came back to reality. “I think...check for the depth of the wound, and bandage it if you need to?”

Almost. “And when should you bandage it?” Byleth pressed, pacing across the floor.

After a couple of seconds, Raphael ventured, “Wait at least four minutes, until all the magic has disappeared from the wound...right?”

Perfect. “Much improved, Raphael. Good work. Next, there’s Bolganone...“ Byleth began as he turned to write more on the classroom slate, not without noticing the grin that now stretched across Raphael’s face. The rest of the class had made its own kind of strides, as well—Lysithea hadn’t interrupted Raphael or blurted out the answer at all.

By some point, Claude had stopped scribbling on his two pieces of paper to rest his mouth against his hand. The fingertips of his other hand played with the end of his braid as his eyes followed Byleth around the room.

Another lecture later, and the day was over. Byleth dismissed the class for dinner and gathered his things, thinking of little else other than taking his work with him to the Dining Hall. The fever had definitely set in by now, and he’d hardly managed to get everything done that he’d wanted to for the day.

As he neared the exit, he slowed as he noticed Claude standing patiently by the doors, books tucked to his side.

"What is it?" Byleth asked. He was half-expecting Claude to ask him about dinner tonight—to turn their lunchtime exchange into a running joke for the day.

Claude leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, looking at Byleth almost expectantly. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well today?”

Ah. Byleth glanced down at his feet. “It didn’t seem important. I would have performed my duties regardless of how I was feeling.”

He couldn’t see Claude’s expression now that he was looking away, but he saw Claude readjust his grip on his books as he switched the direction he was leaning in. 

“Maybe it’s not important to your duties, but it’s still important to us. And whether or not we care about how you’re doing—that should be important to you, too,” he said. His voice was, as it often was, appeasing—persuading. But it lacked the cheerful edge that usually coated Claude’s tongue.

Byleth paused to think, but he couldn't think of any explanation, anything to counter back with. "You're right. I apologize," he said at length.

His admission was met with a pause. 

When Claude spoke again, his voice was softer—less tense, Byleth was noticing, than from earlier today.

"You don't have to apologize. Why don’t you just get some rest?" Claude said. “People will still like you if you stop being their professor for one day, you know.”

If words could cut—

Byleth looked up. “I—” he said. Claude was, for once, completely unsmiling. “...I think I’ll retire for the evening.”

The serious look in Claude’s eyes remained for a few seconds more, before he closed them, concealing his emotions as he flashed a smile.

“You’d better. If you’re good, I’ll swipe you some goodies from the Dining Hall to sweeten the deal,” he said, lightly patting the top of Byleth’s head with his hand, seeming to relish in the irony behind the gesture.

As much as Byleth liked being able to humor Claude—though he wasn’t exactly sure why—this was a bit much. He felt his fever worsen under the flush of embarrassment.

But just as he was about to duck away from Claude’s touch, he felt Claude’s hand drift down, brushing past his hair a bit before reaching forward to rest on the wall behind him.

Falteringly, Byleth blinked up at Claude’s eyes, feeling the body heat that emanated from Claude’s outstretched arm by his head.

“You play the roles people give you without complaint. But who are you when those roles are taken away?” Claude leaned in closer, lowering his eyelids. “I really meant what I said, Teach. You have every right to live your own life without being subservient to your duties.” His voice dropped to a soft murmur. “In case I need to spell it out for you...you work hard to wear all those different hats around the others, but...I think I'd rather see you when you’re not wearing anything at all." Silence spiked between them for only a second before Claude pulled back with a wink. "When it comes to proverbial hats, I mean."

Byleth was suddenly aware of the weight of his tongue in his mouth—the way it was sitting against his teeth. If that was a joke, it was…quite the joke.

“...Right.”

With a satisfied nod, Claude removed his hand from the wall. “Well then, I’ll see you around, okay, Teach?” he said, waving goodbye as though they had done no more than discuss an assignment. 

Byleth watched Claude’s figure disappear into the misty blues of the evening, lingering for a moment longer before pulling himself together to start closing the large double-doors to the classroom. Once he’d locked up, he began walking briskly away. Despite how terrible he felt, his legs seemed to want to carry him to his quarters as quickly as possible.

He shook his head. He was behaving like a flustered child, running away from something embarrassing.

Upon entering his room, he dumped his stack of notes and exams on his desk, staring at them for only a moment before turning away to begin disrobing. Tomorrow. He could do all of that tomorrow.

Just as he unclasped his cloak from his neck and shoulders, he heard a brief knock at his door.

When he opened it, no one was in sight—but laid at his feet was a plate of cheese, crackers, and berries.

And as Byleth picked it up and took it into his room, he realized that there was a hint of a smile on his face, despite everything.

And he also realized that, no matter how much his students learned and grew, he was probably the one who had learned the most.

* * *

Fragile 

“...I said, now’s a good time.”

Byleth slowed as he walked by Claude, apparently in the middle of some kind of negotiation. A merchant had him backed up to a wall just outside of Garreg Mach, his hands on either side of his head.

It occurred to Byleth that trying to capture Claude in this way was about as fruitless an endeavor as capturing a sunbeam. As it was, Claude was looking back at his conversational partner with a cold smile.

“Ooh, but that’s the thing—it’s not a good time for me. Why don’t we pick up later?” he said smoothly.

"Later’s _not_ a good time. Haven’t you been dreaming for a chance like this?”

“What do you care about my dreams?” Claude asked, eyes narrowing tiredly above his facile grin.

“Come on. Don’t they have someone like me in them?” the merchant said. When he began reaching for Claude’s face, Byleth didn’t waste any time.

“We don’t need what you’re selling,” he said, grabbing the back of the other man’s collar. He lifted him off the ground, the merchant gripping at the front of his collar uncomfortably as it started to dig into his neck. “Now leave.”

The man stumbled, his knee hitting the ground as Byleth threw him down. He scrambled to his feet and ran off without a word.

“You talk like a stern mother, but you intimidate people like some kind of fire-scorched demon,” Claude remarked, stretching his arms languidly as he lifted away from the wall.

“Are you alright?” Byleth asked, before catching sight of a tiny dagger laying flat in the palm of Claude’s hand, the blade seeming to drip some kind of purple liquid—but in a flash, it was already sheathed, disappearing from sight in the ample space of Claude’s sleeve.

Claude shrugged with an impassive grin. “Fine, obviously. If you poke your nose in as many places as I do, you’re bound to run into people of that type—tall, dark, and hostile.” Byleth blinked as Claude brushed the dust off of the back of his uniform. “You sure know how to charge in like a knight in shining armor, don’t you? Just how many people do you sweep off their feet this way?”

“I don’t understa—”

“‘I don’t understand’, yeah, yeah,” Claude said, before catching himself with a sigh. “Look...forget I said anything. I do appreciate you trying to help. Just…” He glanced down at the flowerless honeysuckle vines that had started to cling to the wall by his side. “I’m...not a fan of owing people favors. A lot of the ‘lenders’ I’ve owed in the past aren’t as nice as you are.”

Byleth wondered what he meant by that, but he pressed, "Just because you can defend yourself doesn't mean that you should have to."

“So you can be selfless _and_ stubborn,” Claude replied, in a tone of voice that conveyed he wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about that second quality. “At any rate, I think I’m starting to understand you more and more, now.” As he walked away, he paused, his chin lifting up towards the sky almost in rumination. “You’d better wield that selflessness of yours more carefully, you know. Those with bleeding hearts tend to get them broken all too easily.”

“Aren’t all hearts easy to break?” Byleth asked. “Even yours?”

“I didn’t say that mine wasn’t,” Claude said softly. He kept walking, giving Byleth one last glance over his shoulder. “I just said to be careful. That’s all.”

* * *

Debtors - Eight years ago 

Every now and then, a “charitable” soul would approach Khalid, offering him thoughtless glimpses of friendship, tossed scraps of kindness. Then came the inevitable betrayal. And laughter. There was almost always laughter.

The jokes at Khalid's expense came casually, tediously, uncreatively, so much so that it was more insulting than anything else.

Not that Khalid would have allowed himself to feel much of anything else outside of being insulted, after this many times.

“He thought you actually wanted to talk to him? What an idiot!” A group of four other children were gathered by the fountain in the middle of the square, shooting him grins over their shoulders or pointing his way as they gossiped and guffawed within their little circle.

He turned away, resuming his perusal of the herbs that the vendor had laid in front of him.

So stupid. 

One of them had said hi. All he'd done was say hi back. And if he hadn't, they would've found something hilarious in that, too. There was little point, either way.

"Hey, shut up!" Khalid's ears twitched. A boy had started shouting at the group of four. Sliding the vendor his payment, Khalid glanced back discreetly.

The shouting boy looked only a year or so older than Khalid, but he was tall for his age. One of the girls crossed her arms, drawing herself up, though she still didn't match his eyeline. The other kids watched him warily.

"What makes you think you can talk to us that way?" she said to him, voice tight like hot coals. 

He scoffed. "Because you're fucking morons. Now get lost."

Their staring contest lasted no more than a few seconds before she backed down. She turned on her heel and skulked off, followed by the other three kids. 

Before they could send accusatory looks Khalid’s way, he turned back towards the bundle of herbs in his hands, now tied together with string. He opened his satchel to put them away.

"Hey." The boy had sidled next to him.

Did he want something?

Most people that did stuff like this wanted something.

"Hey," Khalid said, giving him a noncommittal wave as he readjusted his satchel, sending signals that he was about to leave.

Speaking up before Khalid could turn away, the boy gave a brief laugh, the kind that people performed to show that they were being a good sport about something.

“Can I at least get a ‘thank you’?”

Ah. That was Khalid's cue to exit. He just gave a nod and a smile, before heading on his way.

The boy began following him. 

“Hey, what gives? I was just trying to be nice to you," he said, grabbing Khalid's shoulder. “The least you could do is be a little grateful.”

Grateful? He owed him, now? He was supposed to give this person something for not hurting him?

Without dropping his smile, Khalid turned to him and said, “I don’t remember asking for your help.” 

He didn’t think he said it all that meanly, having tried to go for a more unattached tone—though that may have been precisely what piqued the other boy so much. His expression instantly tightened, and he grabbed Khalid’s shoulders and shoved him to the ground.

The heels of Khalid's palms thudded behind him as his arms reached on impulse to break his fall, his experience kicking in too late to pull them away. If there was anything that sparked any new frustration in him, it was at this mistake—if he were to shatter his wrists, how could he defend himself? How could he prove himself?

His palms throbbed on the ground, but they felt okay.

Some other kids, and even some of their parents, had started to gather around the town square to get a glimpse of the altercation.

Giving nothing away, Khalid just looked up as the boy towered over him. There was no point in escalating things, or giving away any of his tricks in front of all these staring people. And he certainly wasn’t going to get up if he was just going to be pushed down again.

It was the kind of situation that was always bitter to swallow—when he had to lose. When skill or intellect had nothing to do with whatever happened to him.

“Looks like you need all the help you can get,” the boy said, lip curling. “You’re weak. And when you end up all alone for the rest of your life, you’ll wish you’d given me a chance.”

Now that he'd gotten the chance to indulge himself, he took a step back, then turned around. And he left.

Khalid picked himself off the ground with no hurry, to disguise his bruised pride. He brushed the dirt off his clothes, settling for a bored expression on his face so long as other people were staring.

Well, at least it was over quickly. Now he could finally have some peace and quiet.

The sparse crowd lost interest and dispersed around him as he went on his way.

Tossing his hands behind his head as though he hadn’t a care in the world, Khalid didn’t look back—didn’t spare a glance in the direction the other boy’d disappeared in.

This was fine.

No, this was to his advantage.

Because it was less lonely now that the other boy was gone...wasn’t it?

* * *

Honeysuckle II 

Byleth pointed to a honeysuckle vine in the greenhouse. “I read in one book that these flowers can soothe homesickness. That might be useful, actually.”

Claude’s hand stilled as he was about to pluck some purple berries for one of his poisons. “Why would I be homesick?” he asked casually.

“I imagine that most of the students here must be homesick. This is the first time many of you have lived completely apart from your families, isn’t it?”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Claude continued in his work. “Right. Of course.”

“Then again, another book said that they mean ‘unadulterated happiness’. Still another said that they signify ‘devoted love’,” Byleth counted off on his fingers, frowning a bit as he tried to think of the rest.

“That’s a lot of significance to burden a little flower with!” Claude said, raising his eyebrows. “So what would _you_ say it all means?”

Picking up a watering can, Byleth shrugged and said, “It means that anyone could come up with a meaning for anything, if they wanted to.”

Claude snorted. “Well. Cheers to that,” he said, holding up a spotted mushroom with his pinky up as though it were a champagne glass, before tossing it into his collection pouch.

“There’s nothing wrong with being fanciful, of course, as arbitrary as it all is,” Byleth said as he watered the honeysuckle. “But there's something that can’t be fabricated, and that's the plant’s actual properties. All you have to do is observe it properly.”

“And what have you observed?” Claude asked, watching as Byleth set down the can and started to readjust the scaffolding to which the vine was attached.

“...Honeysuckle isn’t easy to kill.”

“So why are you bothering to tend to it, then?”

Byleth gently reached towards the plant to examine it, propping up a dewy bud with a finger. “Even if it doesn’t need the help—or perhaps, because it doesn’t—it’s been looking rather neglected lately, hasn’t it?” he said, meeting Claude’s eyes.

“...Don’t ask me. You’re the expert,” Claude said as he looked off to the side. “But you know, you gave me an idea for a fun game just now. Why don’t we come up with a flower language of our own?”

As Byleth blinked up at him neutrally, Claude knew that he had to explain further. He began gesturing at some white orchids.

“Okay, so let’s say that flower means ‘I’m deathly afraid of jesters’. And _that_ one over there means ‘I got the liquid shits after trying the stir fry at the Dining Hall’.” He glanced at Byleth playfully. “Come on. What does that one mean?” He pointed at some gladiolus flowers that were just starting to bloom.

“Um…” Byleth started as he found himself drawing a blank. He hadn’t been invited to participate in many games of any kind...ever, really. “...'The body is buried with the spoon under the courtyard’.”

He wondered if he’d said something awful when Claude burst into laughter.

“Somewhat confusing, incredibly concerning. I like it!” he said. “I had no idea you enjoyed dark humor.”

Suddenly pleased that he hadn’t messed up their game, Byleth began to blush. “...This is fun.”

“‘This is fun’? That one was a little weak, Teach,” Claude teased, looking self-satisfied when Byleth sighed patiently through his nose.

“How about the honeysuckle, then?” Byleth asked. “What should we come up with?”

Claude drew closer, crouching next to Byleth to take in the flowers' sweet scent.

“Nothing, yet.” 

“Nothing?”

“Yeah,” Claude said, turning to give Byleth a wink. “I don’t wanna nail this one down quite yet. Let’s keep it open to interpretation.”

* * *

Code 

On his way to the greenhouse, Byleth stepped through the courtyards, pausing here and there to speak with the students that greeted him. 

He passed by Ignatz, who was sketching some of the dogs and cats that were lazing about in the sun, and Linhardt, who was snoozing on his side right next to them. Ashe was crouched down nearby, offering the drowsy animals some fish he’d caught. A few yards down, and Dorothea and Hilda were heard exchanging some remarks. Hilda seemed to be using her usual charms, and Dorothea was responding with a healthy amount of skepticism.

“And tell me, are _all_ noble ladies as cute and willing to foist their chores onto commoners as you?” he overheard Dorothea say sweetly with a wink. As much as he didn’t want them to argue, he could tell that the conversation wasn’t going to escalate from there, and so he continued on.

Near the stone steps that led down to the greenhouse, another student could be seen talking to Claude. Byleth paid them little mind, but slowed as he caught the tone of the other student’s voice.

“I’m just telling you to back off,” he said. He was holding a bundle of orange flowers, which added almost a comical effect as he took a step closer, intending on looking intimidating as he held their delicate stems close.

“And you have my word that I will. For all the good that that’s worth,” Claude said in that unconvincing, tongue-in-cheek way of his.

“Are you messing with me? I seriously can’t tell,” the student sighed, frowning. “You should realize how lucky you are, getting to hang out with Hilda all the time. You’re honestly so strange that I’m not sure why she even spends any time with you.” He eyed Claude as he spoke those words—at his braid, earring, eyes, skin—seemingly unable to place why those traits seemed bothersome, but feeling the way he did all the same.

“I know, I know. Lucky me,” Claude said distantly, stretching as he placed his hands behind his head.

It was then that they both noticed Byleth as he stepped towards them, bending towards the flowers in the student’s hands as he gave them a once-over.

“Er...hello, Professor,” the student said, unsure of what Byleth was doing.

“Orange carnations...an odd choice.” Byleth raised a hand in front of his chin in thought.

“W-what do you mean? What’s wrong with them?” the student asked, eyebrows pinching together as he stared down at his bouquet.

Byleth just gave him a serious look before clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll understand. Maybe she tried the stir-fry, too.”

Claude let out a loud snort before attempting to cover it up with a bout of coughing.

“What?” the student said in consternation.

“Um—” Claude started, raising the back of his hand in front of his mouth as he tried not to collapse into laughing outright. His eyes met Byleth’s over the student’s shoulders, and Byleth was looking back at him with about as good-humored a look as was possible for him.

“What? What’s so funny?” the student now demanded. Claude could only shake his head, unable to stifle the grin that had spread on his face.

“—Don’t worry about it. It’s an inside joke.”

* * *

Reflect 

As Byleth sat in front of the fishing pond, a rod lent from his father in his hands, Claude had approached with the usual friendliness. A cock of the head, a string of small talk, some questions about fishing.

“Did you want to give it a try?” Byleth asked after a bit. Claude paused, his hands still on his knees from when he was poring over Byleth’s shoulder and sprinkling him with small remarks and inquiries. Straightening, he held both hands up.

“Whoa, that’s okay, Teach. I actually haven’t had much fishing experience, so…”

“I’ll show you.”

Claude observed Byleth carefully as he demonstrated the steps and the motions, the strategy and decision-making, before handing the fishing rod over. Blinking, Claude cast a small grin, his fingertips touching past Byleth’s as he took it and tossed out the line.

As he settled into a cross-legged position on the dock beside his professor, Claude’s gaze flicked to the bucket of Byleth’s successful catches. He gave a whistle.

“You’ll deplete all the fish at that rate. All the fish breeders' hard work will be for naught.” The mischievous curve to his mouth deepened as he gazed sidelong at Byleth, who was now looking into the waters below. “You just had to go and be perfect, huh, Teach?” 

Head turning up, Byleth said, “That’s not true.” Being praised was nice in moderation, but in excess, it made Byleth feel...farther away from others. Farther than he wanted to be.

“It is.”

Byleth stayed still for a moment, before glancing down at his lap. It didn’t seem to be true before he came to the monastery.

Had he done anything differently?

Why were people treating him differently _now_?

“Let’s see…” Claude said, holding up a hand as he counted off on his fingers, “you’re good at fighting, you’re good at tactics, you’re good at teaching—at fishing, of course—you can garden...and you can even cook things well enough.” 

“That hardly equates to ‘perfection’.”

Shrugging, Claude placed both hands on the fishing rod again. “What, do you want me to carry on? I could, but there are other things I could waste my breath on besides singing your many praises.”

Unconvinced, Byleth replied, “If that counts as perfection, then you’d easily qualify. You seem to have an aptitude for most everything.”

“Well. Guilty as charged,” Claude said, injecting a brief laugh into the conversation. His eyes leisurely scanned the pond. “It doesn’t come naturally, but it’s worth the effort. Being good at everything has its advantages.”

Byleth looked at him carefully. The ripples of sunlight reflecting from the water were shivering across Claude’s cheeks and nose, looking cold, somehow. “...I don’t think you need advantages anymore, Claude.”

Tilting his head back, Claude gave a languid look. “Then tell me. What do you think I need?” His tone of voice was soft, but the words felt sharp.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Byleth said, “I just mean that...I suppose if there’s anything you’d like to talk about with me, I’d set aside the time to listen.”

Claude’s eyes narrowed, and he readjusted his grip on the fishing rod. “Now that you mention it, I’ve been wanting to hear your thoughts on a couple of things. Just some silly hypothetical questions, actually.”

“Yes?”

“So…” Claude began, sounding thoughtful, meandering. “Say that a portal magically opens up between two different civilizations, with their own distinct cultures. What do you think those people would do? Go through the portal to greet their neighbors on the other side? Stay away out of fear of the unknown? Or stride forth, bringing an army of soldiers behind them, ready to carve out the new land before them in blood?”

It wasn’t the sort of thing Byleth was expecting to hear, but he considered it in good faith. “It’s not easy to predict the behaviors of entire groups of people. Individuals are complicated enough as it is, and once you start looking at factions of these complicated individuals...who can say?” He watched the overlapping lines and shadows that the ripples created in the pond, crossing and canceling, swirling and stilling in tiny bits of chaos. “Knowing nothing else of the details of your scenario, I’d generalize that the populations on either side would be split—reacting with kindness, fear, greed...all of it. As to how that affects the actual outcome of what each civilization would do, as a whole...that likely depends on their form of decision-making and government.”

“You know, it’s interesting that you’d say that. I’m inclined to mostly agree,” Claude said, giving a small nod. “It’s probably impossible to answer the question unless you’re familiar with the government and culture of the place you’re talking about. And you should never gamble without looking at the dice in your hand—that's what I say, at least.” He held up a hand as he gestured forward. “Take Fódlan’s current forms of government. There’s always an emperor, king or queen, and dukedom to deal with...and then there’s the archbishop. The one who dips their hands into the culture and discourse of Fódlan in ways that people seem to take for granted. How do you think the archbishop’d react to a situation like that—suddenly having a passageway to another land?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like the sort of situation she’s currently concerned about,” Byleth said. He could practically envision Lady Rhea’s kind and mysterious eyes...the ones that always seemed to fixate on him when he spoke with her, as though all else paled in importance.

“Right? She’s only concerned about a few specific things, isn’t she?” Claude chimed in. “I’m sure there’s a lot on her plate and all, but I have to wonder. Outside of my silly hypotheticals, there are all these actual rebellions we've been putting down. Yet there still seem to be some matters of concern regarding Fódlan that she doesn’t seem interested in.” Giving a sly grin, he added, “You're not, uh, going to execute me for saying that, are you?”

Byleth shook his head.

“Great. That means a lot,” Claude said with good humor. “So then, how’s Lady Rhea been doing, lately? She hasn’t been conspiring with you about sending us on more boring thief-hunting missions, has she? Or has she been telling you anything more interesting than that?”

Byleth shook his head once more. “I don’t believe so.”

“That’s a bit surprising, given how much of a shine she seems to have taken to you. Or...am I mistaken? Maybe if you got further into her good graces, she’d open up to you a bit. She may even fess up about why she wanted you hired here in the first place.”

“Claude...” Byleth said his name without reproach, but it still sounded like a warning.

Though Byleth couldn't discern Claude's end goal with certainty, by now he had been getting a better picture of what topics Claude cared about, what lines of inquiry he tended to pursue. And these questions, as with the others that Claude rained down on Byleth from time to time, were largely harmless as far as he was concerned.

And yet...

Claude continued. “Heck, you could even get so chummy that you’d have an answer to our little thought experiment—when it comes to Fódlan, at any rate.”

Claude wanted something. From the very start, their conversation had been…

Just moments ago, Byleth had felt so sure that they were just talking with each other. Hadn’t even questioned it.

His eyes traveled from Claude’s hands, still steady and closed over the fishing rod, up his arms, towards his face. Choosing the right bait. Patience. Persistence. Knowing when to strike. Those were principles of fishing, but...

He could see it in Claude’s eyes. The knowledge that he had given Claude was already being reflected back at him with no effort, with words like a surgeon’s fingers—probing for any exposed wounds, ready to prise them open if necessary.

After a few seconds more of silence from Byleth, Claude smiled disarmingly. “Hey, relax. I’m kidding.”

“...I see," Byleth said, tongue beginning to feel dry. How many past conversations with Claude had Byleth taken for granted? How many jokes had he dismissed that he shouldn't have? “If you don't mind my broaching this topic...I've noticed the way you sometimes speak towards others, and..."

"...And what have you noticed?"

Too many things. Struggling to put it eloquently, Byleth said, "Your methods when you speak with other people can occasionally be...warm.”

“'Warm' methods? Now that’s a new expression.” Claude scratched the back of his head, still taking care to keep a good grip on the fishing rod. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“The exchanges you can have with people are sometimes...made quickly intimate.”

Without a single impact to his facial expression, Claude said, “Okay. I might have an idea of what you mean, now.”

“Then...do you intend on speaking with me like that?”

Caught off guard, Claude’s eyes widened before he let out a short, huffed laugh. “Wait, you’re not...feeling left out, are you?” Byleth realized that Claude had turned away from his fishing entirely, his eyes affixing Byleth in place. “And here I was starting to think that you weren’t all that interested in...well…” Claude nodded his head to the side in a half-shrug, his expression sly. "...'Warm methods'."

Oh.

“I’m not—I mean, I am—” Byleth started, his tongue getting uncharacteristically tangled. “To the first question, I’m—well, I’m not—and to the second, I am interested—rather, I’m not disinterested—in general, that is, and not necessarily with you, and I don’t intend that rudely—just that I haven’t considered with anyone specifically that—” The further he attempted to clarify, the more muddled it became. What was he even originally trying to ask?

"Stammering, all of a sudden? I guess even you have weaknesses." Claude tutted softly. "You know, with that poker face of yours, I could never tell before." The intellect that glinted in his gaze was poised like a nocked arrow, seemingly inert but lethally pointed. His pupils pointed right back at Byleth's.

"By the way...you've been working really hard, lately. It looks pretty stressful." Claude smiled as though he knew something that Byleth didn’t. “Rhea saddling you with this teaching gig, when you should really be a student at your age...doesn't it weigh on you at all?”

Another rule of fishing. If the current bait isn’t working, then switch it out for different bait. 

Claude placed his hand on the dock—on the space of wood in-between Byleth’s knees, leaning in—not oppressively close, but enough to carry the message across.

He’d switched out the bait.

“What could be a small way to twist those arbitrary rules into something freer…?" Claude asked in a low voice. "...Anything come to mind?” It felt for a moment that there was nowhere for Byleth to hide, as Claude’s gaze lit across his face like a torch scalding away the darkness. “Tell me...what do you want?”

Something not quite cold, not quite heat, shocked up Byleth’s body, then down, settling like a shiver in his chest, in his stomach.

Too many thoughts were crowding each other, shouting over each other in Byleth’s mind, emptying him of everything but background noise.

In that loud silence, his eyes slid across Claude’s face.

His mouth was purest artifice.

His gestures said “come closer” and his eyes said “stay right where you are”.

Byleth had seen these looks before. When Claude was testing the waters with anyone he wanted information out of—when he'd exhausted his other tools and needed to press the conversation forward, or direct it somewhere else.

When there was a nut for him to crack.

And now those looks were being pointed at him.

Just like everyone else.

Byleth quickly got to his feet. 

Withdrawing his arm, Claude looked up at him in surprise.

“Teach…?”

Byleth wasn’t the quickest to call the students or faculty here “friends”, but…he’d thought that everything was different, now that he was at Garreg Mach. But maybe there were some things that would always be the same.

Berries, mushrooms, leaves...flowers. Collected piece by piece and synthesized into Claude’s many poisons.

The thought didn’t come to him then, but it occurred to Byleth now: someone could give Claude a flower, and he could turn it into a weapon.

“I'm sorry," Byleth said as he turned away, his cloak drifting in its own lonely breeze. "I should go.”

“Hey,” Claude started, “what about your fishing rod—”

Before he could get to his feet to run after Byleth, his head jerked towards the pond as he heard the fishing line snap.

The fish got away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyyy don’t you love it when a writer promises smut and then...instead there's conflict? Classic!  
> That being said, I'm looking forward to embellishing more on the conflict and exploring it moving forward! (As in...a lot of those parts are already written, eheh.) But then I guess these "vignettes" aren't always going to be that vignette-y, and quite a few are actually connected? I guess it'd be more accurate to call this a "snapshot" series or something. Hm...


End file.
